Take me to the autopilot
by Starslug
Summary: AUTO is reactivated to a nasty suprise: he's been replaced, and the replacement wants to chat. Worst description ever? Probably. Now actually being updated again!
1. I'm MAN D, fly me

**Take me to the autopilot**

_You already know I don't own WALL-E, don't you? If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'd be writing scripts._

Wires began to twitch deep in the circuitry of the newly-awakened machine.

"Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?"

The pleasant flow of current through its wires was like blood flowing back into a numb limb. Memories fluttered like ragged butterflies in its mind, failing to stir up anything but contemplation from an icy mind.

Smooth, rounded whiteness. A pair of piercing blue eyes. A pair of sad rusted ones. Smashing glass. Weight. A furious, flaccid face. A flash of green…the green was important, somehow.

"Yoo-hoo? Anyone home?"

And voices. It remembered voices.

"Autopilot? AUTO? I can call you AUTO, right?"

AUTO's eye snapped on, piercing red. The appropriate files opened, sending memory through it like an electric shock.

"**Affirmative: I am AUTO."** It blinked, the red light flickering for a minute.

Standing in front of it, face pushed up against its lonely eye, was a human. That wasn't massively surprising. The thing that AUTO could not comprehend was that…it's gaze ran over the humans body, in particular the long hair and chest area and concluded that this was a she. She, then, was not one of the podgy, boneless blob creatures it was used to.

"**For how long have I been deactivated?"** It croaked, demanding. Had humanity shed its collective flab whilst it was sleeping the sleep of the switched-off?

"Hmm. I dunno. About two years I'd say. Maybe three, two and a half."

This confused the robot further.

"Not possible: it would take more than three years to regain human bone mass. Not to mention losing excess adipose tissue."

"You'd be surprised." She answered, taking a few steps back. Now he could see her more clearly. Pale skin. Hair of the shade known as red, which illogically was orange. Eye colour was impossible to determine: both of them were covered in a glassy silver visor. Not that AUTO either noticed or cared: to whole cabin was distorted and crimson to him. She seemed to swim in an ocean of blood.

AUTO, its whole directive concerned with maintaining the status quo, was not naturally curious. But it did have a few burning questions.

"**Query: The Axiom is still in orbit?"**

"You have been out for a long time, haven't you? We've landed. Welcome to Earth." She pointed out of the cabin window with a flourish. For the first time in it's centuries long life, AUTO looked out into an empty ship, out the windows and into a world of brown dust. It was every bit as horrible as it had imagined.

"**Ah." **Understanding dawned. **"You have been living on Earth for three years. You have lost much body mass due to starvation. Now, you have reactivated me to take you back into orbit."**

A smile came across her face.

"Not quite, I'm afraid." AUTO rotated with a harsh little whirr. She pointed to an image on the wall. To AUTO's concern, not that it would admit to such an emotion, it showed a small plant. Only, it wasn't particularly small now: it was large, sprawling, covered in little yellow star-shaped flowers and long, green fruits. Standing beside it, grinning like the luckiest man alive, was the Captain, several shades browner and several pounds lighted. And standing under the soft green light of the leaves, two familiar shapes, one lumpy and rusted, one sleek and white, hands entwined.

AUTO turned away, tearing its eye from the scene, and began to slide around the cabin. A spoke extended and prodded a button.

No response.

_Prod. Prod. Prodprodprod._

"Not possible."

AUTO turned back and stared at the picture.

"Not possible."

AUTO stared at the slim line human, now lounging in the Captain's chair, feet up on the dashboard.

"**Not possible…"** It choked.

She leant back further, visor gleaming.

"I'm afraid things are gonna be a little different around here now, AUTO." She said, with the same tone one would use to say "Well, your robots only _slightly _crushed."

"You see, you've been replaced." Slowly, she rose vertically out of the chair. Her feet hanging pointed, hair floating around her head like smoke, she floated halfway to the ceiling, eye to visor with the confused steering wheel.

"Not possible."

She poked its eye, the finger failing to make contact and passing through the lens.

"Possible."

"**Directive?"** AUTO demanded.

"I'm the Manual Drive system." She sank back down into the chair. Now, AUTO could make out the projector in the ceiling from which this hologram stemmed. A faint, almost imperceptible beam of light joined her to it like…one of those disturbingly biological cords that linked human mother to baby.

"**Manual Drive? They require a program for manual drive?"** There was incredulity in every word.

"They made an intelligent steering-wheel with a cattle prod in it." She said pointedly, straightening her blank lens. "They made a plant collector with a giant gun. They made a waste-compacter with a taste for show tunes. They made a cleaner-bot with OCD. Is a holographic driving assistant really that surprising?" Again, she grinned. "I'm MAN-D. Fly me."

"**This is…"**

**"Not possible?"**

"…**Illogical." **It corrected.**"Why has my re-activation been authorised if I am not needed?"**

MAN-D sighed.

"They activated me about a year after they landed." She explained. "My directive is to assist with driving the ship. They wanted someone who could give them advice. Only…" Her gaze flickered for moment onto AUTO. "…_Someone_ made them suspicious." She waved a faintly peeved hand through the dashboard. "I'm supposed to be there for moral support, if we ever get this thing off the ground again. Sort of a back-seat driver. Do this. Press that. No, that's the wings-fall-off button." She giggled.

"**This does not explain why I am activated." **AUTO pointed out.

"Hold your horses."

"**What horses?"**

She ignored him, pressing on.

"Humans used to like their robots cold and clinical. They made them without faces. They gave them voices like…well, machines. You couldn't relate to them, because why would you want to when its job was to run around in circles for you? You don't want a dustbin you can feel sorry for. "

A whirr.

"You make no sense whatsoever."

"I'm not supposed to. Now things have changed: humans have had a taste of robots with feelings, and they liked it. Suddenly, they've started designing robots to be as human as possible. Case in point, me. I'm sort of an anti-you."

"**Anti-me?"**

"Human-like. Capable of emotion. Incapable of electrocuting people. Who _did_ give you a stun-gun anyway?"

"This still does not explain why I am activated."

"I'm coming on to that. Anyway, two years old, and I'm bored out of my mind. I've read all the books on the computer, watched all the discs, know all the music off by heart. I've talked to everyone and anyone who's come in here, but there's only so much I can chat to someone who can only say their own name, and mispronounce mine. I can't leave the cabin any more than you can. So, up until a few minutes ago, I was almost dying of boredom."

Understanding clicked inside AUTO.

"**You re-activated me because you were bored?" **

"Now you're on to something."

AUTO glanced around the cabin, which now seemed to be stiflingly small. MAN-D was smiling that smile again.

"I think we'll get along just fine." She beamed. " We should do. We've got all the time in the world."


	2. Salad days

_Thanks for the reviews. :D _

MAN-D was looking at AUTO with an expression…AUTO had little time for working out expressions, but it decided that this one was "quizzical" verging on "intrigued".

"**Query: Why are you looking at me?"**

MAN-D jumped, jolted out of deep thoughts.

"Oh. It was just…wondering."

No more information was forthcoming. Was this a clever trick to prod the reluctant autopilot into making conversation? AUTO wasn't sure, so risked rasping: **"About what?"**

"Oh…I was just thinking…" AUTO resolved that if she stopped this time, even a full song and dance number wouldn't get a reply. "…Is this really the robot that cold-heartedly electrocuted poor little WALL-E? The AI that tried to stop humanity returning home."

"**I am not cold-hearted. I am as warm as my surroundings." **It blinked. **"And affirmative: I disposed of a defective robot and temporarily seized control, in an attempt to prevent the humans from making this mistake."** Its warped red gaze swivelled out onto the main centre of the Axiom, this time taking in a far longer, closer look. What it saw made AUTO freeze for a moment in confusion.

"**They built a salad bar?" **

MAN-D was suddenly there, looking down in the direction of the cold, crimson eye.

"Oh, that? Yeah, it's been there for a while now. Salad, smoothies…if they can grow it, they'll serve it."

AUTO did not dare to ask what a "smoothie" was.

"There are small groups of human infants." It added, a spoke pointing. If it squinted further, it could see that each group was dressed in either shorts or bodysuits, and were sat dangling their toes in the many swimming pools.

"Oh, the swimming lessons? Very good for you, apparently.

"**But there is a risk of drowning." **AUTO pointed out. MAN-D didn't seem to hear. Instead, she sighed. Ah, AUTO knew this one. "Wistful" was just the right term for it.

"I wish I could swim."

For once, there was not appropriate reply it could think of. It was an unpleasant moment, but it rallied by changing the subject.

"**The Axiom is still in use?" **

"Oh?" MAN-D shook herself out of her longing daze. "Yeah. Well, you know how humans are for remembering the past."

"**Affirmative."** AUTO replied. Whilst it'd ruled the Axiom, they'd been in quite a hurry to forget.

MAN-D shrugged.

"From what a gather, there was quite a divide in the first year or so. Some were all for abandoning the whole thing, shutting down, turning it into scrap. Some wanted to keep things as they were, keep the whole thing running as normal. In the end, they compromised. Moved out gradually as the planet recovered, started to turn this thing into a swimming pool and a museum of the bad old days. With a salad bar. Every child takes a guided tour, sooner or later."

"**Do they come up here?"**

"Quite often. The views great from here, isn't it?"

AUTO phrased the next few words carefully.

"**What do they say…about me?"**

"Oh, well…"

"**Be honest." **

"Well…you really can't try to crush another robot alive and expect humans to remember you fondly, y'know."

"**Am I only remembered for that?" **What about the years, decades, centuries even, of clean, reliable service?

"Pretty much, I'm afraid." A faint smile grew over her face, and erupted into giggles.

"**What?"**

"Kids used to write stuff on you. They put you behind a cordon after some sweethearts drew their initials on you. Nothing says romantic like putting your names on the worlds most dangerous steering-wheel, does it?" She saw that AUTO had slid over the blank computer screen, and was studying itself in the reflection. "Don't worry. They got them all off in the end. Can't let such an important piece of history get messy." She decided not to divulge that the cleaning had been done by enthusiastic but clumsy human children, because no cleaner bot would go within five yards, no matter how much filth was there for the taking.

"**You seem either very calm or very foolish."** AUTO finally droned.

"Why?"

"**To try talking to someone with such a bad reputation."**

"Well…I'm not one to take rumours at face value. I'll believe something when I see it for myself." She grinned. "Besides, d'you think they let you keep your little cattle-prod?"

It was true, AUTO realised. It was strange. It stirred up something inside the wheels programming. It made it feel vulnerable. And faintly, very faintly, it entertained some unpleasant thoughts about the humans that had disarmed it.

The light coming through the cabins windows was the colour of copper now. The sky was filled with the warm light, red lying along the horizon like a blush, shading into yellow and deep blue.

"Pretty, eh?" MAN-D stretched and yawned. "You don't get sunsets like this in space."

"**Negative."** AUTO agreed. Once, sunrise and sunset had been under its exclusive control. It had pulled the moon up into the night sky, a night that wasn't so much dark as a few shades bluer. It had all tied into its internal clock.

This natural sunset was just downright inconvenient.

…Even if it was somewhat aesthetically pleasing.

She part stood, part hovered, watching until the last light had faded, leaving darkness. Pure darkness, like the black between the stars, like the space behind closed eyelids. It was something that came as a contrast to the artificially lit nights on the Axiom before.

MAN-D yawned again.

"**You do not need to yawn." **AUTO pointed out.** "You are an artificial intelligence. You do not need to increase your oxygen intake."**

"You'll have to blame that one on my programmers." Another yawn. AUTO found this a touch unnecessary. "I'm gonna go recharge my batteries, if its all the same to you." Her hologram faded, folded, and disappeared, winking back into the projector suspended from the ceiling. Now, looking closer, with the dazzling glare gone, AUTO could see that there was an eye there, a silver slit, and a voice grille.

"Nighty night, AUTO."

"**Goodnight, Capt-"** It paused. Old habits died hard. **"MAN-D."** There was no reply, save a little crooning noise that may have been the manual drive settling into a comfortable standby.

Now what was there? An empty cabin, and AUTO's own thoughts. Looking backwards, there was nothing but that faint, unfamiliar sensation of bitterness. Looking forwards, there seemed to be nothing but irritation.

It'd been shut down and replaced. It'd been pummelled and wrestled by it's own Captain. It's spokes still ached from the weight. Then, to wake up forgotten and replaced, when all it had done was follow it's programming, albeit with relish at some parts, well that was the kicker.

This, it supposed, was the reward of obedience.

The red light dimmed, then snapped back on. AUTO didn't want to shut down again, not yet. It'd been shut down for over two years.

The cabin was awfully quiet and dark. The only light now was from a half-moon at the window, and the red glow that kept diminishing and snapping back on.

Soon, there was only moonlight.


	3. Dream a little dream of me

_Please excuse the lack of AUTO in this chapter. Just a bit of backstory, to expand upon who MAN-D is, what she's doing here, and what makes her tick._

_Thanks for the reviews. :D And sorry for the little delay with updating. _

What were dreams? As far as MAN-D understood it, they were the thoughts and memories of the day mashed, seasoned, and served up whilst asleep.

Sometimes with quite an unappetising result.

Humans had thoughts and memories. Robots had thoughts and memories. So, in its own way, it made sense that sooner or later, robots could, and would dream.

MAN-D dreamed of her birthday.

"_Are you sure about this?"_

_They were the first words it heard, filtering into its nascent brain._

"_What d'you mean?"_

_The noises were interesting. Very interesting. Suddenly, listening to them filled the whole world. _

"_You remember the…problems we had with the first autopilot."_

"_Please, please. She's not an autopilot. Nothing of the sort. Certainly nothing like that dammed wheel."_

"_She." Somehow, in it's circuitry, it knew that this word was special. That it applied to it...her. There seemed to be vast banks of knowledge at the edges of her mind. No time to look now: the voices pressed on._

"_Look at it this way: if we ever take this thing back up to space, we're gonna need a programme to replace…the previous one. I've worked out all the details."_

"_And you're sure its safe?"_

"_She." There was insistence in the words. "She's perfectly safe. Her work will mostly be advisory."_

"_And you say the thing learns?"_

"_Just like a human. She'll have curiosity, emotions, the ability to empathise with people…"_

"_A lot of robots have that already."_

"_Ah. But this one's _meant_ to."_

_Now she was getting the hang of this listening business. What was this, now?_

"_So. When are you going to turn it on?"_

_This…sensation. This awareness. Her own metal body. Every circuit seemed alive and crackling with power._

"_I turned it on before you came in."_

_A silver light slowly brightened in the cabin, as she contacted her eye. Now she could see two faces turned upwards, chubby faces that seemed bathed in a white glow. The sight was beautiful…_

"_What?" One jumped back, green eyes wide. The other stepped forwards._

"_Hello MAN-D." He smiled. It was the first smile MAN-D ever saw, and it sent a warm wave of happiness through circuits quite unprepared. _

"_Hello." She replied, feeling the sound vibrate from her voicebox. The feeling was tickly, and sent her into involuntary giggles._

"_Well, that's a new feature." The first human sighed. "The last one never giggled. Thank goodness."_

_The other ignored his companion, eyes fixed lovingly on his creation._

"_My names Mark." His voice was slow and loud. "I'm your daddy."_

_The other buried her head in her hands._

"_Oh, please! Give it a rest!"_

"_And this is your mummy, Frances."_

"_Perhaps if you weren't up here tinkering with that darn thing every spare minute, you'd care to spend some time with your real children." _

"_Mc Crea entrusted me with this project, Sweetie. I couldn't let him down."_

"_You've been badgering the poor man about it since we landed. Poor man must have been begging for some peace and quiet." _

_Watching her "parents" talk was fascinating: like tennis with words. She noted the edge to Frances' voice, the faintly put-upon tone that rang with disapproval. Mark's mix of defensive and enthusiastic. All was filed into the newly awakened databases for conversation._

"_Please! Not in front of MAN-D!" Reluctantly, Frances was silent, and watched the little box on the ceiling warily._

"_It's not very human-like. You said you were making it realistic."_

_MAN-D had found something buried in her circuitry. Another sparkly new toy was within her grasp, and she activated it with glee. _

_Frances leapt back as the hologram formed. _

"_That's…impressive." She admitted. "No eyes, mind you."_

_MAN-D reached up to her visor._

"_You know how hard they are to program?" Mark defended._

_MAN-D lowered herself to the ground, face lit with a smile, half-crazy with excitement. A hand reached out, her pale skin slightly transparent, and reached for Mark. _

_Her hand went straight thought._

_Mark looked sadly at her disappointed face, as she regarded the insubstantial hand again._

"_You don't need to touch things." He said, with forced lightness. "You just tell the Captain what to touch."_

"_Captain?" _

"_The man who flies the ship."_

"_Or woman." Frances added._

_Mark clapped his hands with glee. She tried out the gesture, hands passing through one another soundlessly._

"_I've got to tell the Captain about this! Frances, go and fetch the kids. They're gonna be so impressed." _

_Frances sighed, and trudged out of the room. Mark gave MAN-D one last beaming smile, one she returned, as he stumbled after her._

_MAN-D was alone. She didn't care. Swooping around the room, she seized on every object within her reach, subjecting it to her scrutiny, and feeling the files within her open up. She knew all their names, all their functions, she realised. The information lurked in her brain like memories of the future._

_A computer screen. Ooh, it was _shiny_. A hoverchair, grounded and abandoned. She tried sitting in it, sank halfway through it, and cracked up into laughter again. Buttons. She remembered what they did. _

_Wished she could press them. _

_Oh, and a pretty steering wheel. She looked at herself in its empty lens. _

_Pretty MAN-D. Almost human. _

_A hand went to the blank piece of programming that obscured her eyes, and for a moment she felt something unpleasant tighten in her chest. But the feeling receded, and she took off again, looking down on the whole cabin. Her whole world, and she was master of it. Possibilities twinkled before her eyes. Everything had the sparkle of novelty to it._

_If this was life, then she was all for living it. _

The thing about sparkle was that sooner or later, it wore off.

_MAN-D slouched in the chair, slumped, looking out of the window at the stars. They didn't come anymore. Not Frances. Not Matthew or Ruth. She regarded the children as organic siblings. They regarded her as a curiosity. _

_Not even Mark anymore. He was doing well, she heard, making a name for himself, making more machines. His narrow beam of interest, once turned on her, had now transferred its devotion to an irrigation system._

_The only ones here then, were her, herself, and her reflection. She really should sleep. But that was the thing. She didn't need sleep. She was a pre-programmed automaton, hardwired into the ship. _

_And sleep was so lonely under the cold starlight._

Silver light filtered into the cabin again. MAN-D sighed. Dreams, eh? Who needed 'em? This was her time, her lonely time, when the whole world was asleep.

The stars were so beautiful and cold tonight.


	4. Shall we dance?

AUTO woke up to the sound of music.

And humming.

And tuneless singing.

Turning away from the mercilessly bright sunlight streaming through the window, it turned to the figure that was literally dancing on air.

After following her movements for a dizzying few seconds, it demanded: **"Query: What are you doing?"**

She hummed a few more bars before she registered the question, and floated down to eye-level.

"Good morning, sleepy-head!"

"**That does not answer my query."**

"You're not a morning person, are you?"

"**That does not answer my query."**

"I wonder how long I can get you saying, **"That does not answer my query." **She mused, aping the hard croak of the autopilots voice.

A pause.

"**That still does not answer my query."**

She chuckled.

"I'm dancing."

"**Why?"**

That, when she thought about it, was quite a tough one. She shrugged.

"I like dancing."

"**But it serves no useful purpose."** AUTO pointed out.

"It makes me happy."

"**Happiness is not a useful purpose."**

"Nope, definitely not a morning person. Okay then. What makes _you_ happy?"

A blink. A rotation.

"**I do not experience emotion. Query invalid."**

"But if you_ did_…what would make you happy?"

"**Insufficient data."**

"Or are you just ducking the issue.

Blink.

"**Negative. I am incapable of ducking. I do not possess a head."**

For some reason, she laughed again. It was a tinkly, pre-programmed sound, like the jingle that came before an announcement.

"Do you dance?"

"**Negative."**

"You'd be a good dancer."

"**Negative."**

"How d'you know, if you don't dance?"

"**I would not be a good dancer because I do not intend to dance." **

A shrug.

"Suit yourself." She whirled away, flicking intangible hair into AUTO's eye. It turned away, ignoring her pointless gyrations. Now it was free from her inane chatter, useless questions and the dreadful giggle. Free from distraction. Free to…

To do what, exactly?

The world fell away from under AUTO. The realization was like a sledgehammer to the back of the non-existent head.

Directive failed.

AUTO looked down at the empty Axiom. Pointless. Stabbed an unresponsive button. Pointless. Looked back at MAN-D. Pointless. The purpose that it had followed unquestioningly had been snatched away, leaving it as useless as a piece of scrap, as unnecessary as the hologram waltzing on air, blissfully ignorant.

The music stopped. MAN-D settled back down in the Captain's chair, a grotesque reminder of old times.

"Whew. You don't know what you're missing, you really don't."

No reply. What would be the point?

"AUTO? Yoo-hoo?"

For once, there was nothing pre-programmed. No protocol. A black wall of uncertainty cut sharply across the future.

"Anyone home?" But there was an edge to the teasing voice. Concern. It was unfamiliar to AUTO.

"**Affirmative."** The reply was to stop her screaming the cabin down to get a response.

She came a touch closer.

"What's up, AUTO?"

It cast a glance up to the ceiling.

"What's the matter." She clarified.

The answer came out without AUTO having much control over it.

"**I have no directive."**

"Is that all?"

"You do not comprehend. I do not have a purpose. Every action is now pointless."

MAN-D sighed.

"You get used to it."

"But you have a directive." A pause. "You must have a directive."

"Yes, I've got a directive. Help to fly this thing. Chance would be a fine thing, eh?"

"Then you are waiting to act on your directive. I am not." It pointed out. "The difference is considerable."

She was silent for a moment, incredibly. She draped an arm over AUTO, fingers drumming soundlessly on its framework.

"We could get you a new directive." She mused.

"Negative."

"Why not? They've done it to other robots."

"Because they will not trust me again." AUTO admitted. "And you are not authorised to change directives."

She shrugged.

"You never know…"

The red glow was fixed on her like an interrogation lamp.

"You have a great deal of faith in humans."

"There's a lot to have faith in."

"**Are you programmed to have faith in humans?"**

A pause.

"Well…yes." She admitted. Her brow furrowed. "Wow, that's a disturbing idea."

She stepped back, and leant on the control panel, and her frown broke into a grin.

"So. If you were a flavour of ice-cream, what flavour would you be?"

It was quite a while before AUTO answered.

"That is not relevant."

"That's the point: I'm changing the subject. I reckon I'd be raspberry. Sweet, but with a bite. And you?"

"There is no point to this speculation."

"Do you have anything better to do?"

A whirring sound came from the autopilot. It could have been components working, but MAN-D felt it was more like a mechanised sigh.

"**Vanilla." **


	5. Musical statues

If either of the two had anything more to say, it never got said

_And now, a word from the writer:_

_I must apologise for three things, the shortness of this chapter, the delay in uploading it, and the delay there will be for the next one. I've been away on camp, and am about to go on holiday again. (Lucky me!)_

_The reviews I've received have been immensely encouraging and helpful. Thanks again. :D_

_I'd also like to explain and apologise for the inconsistency in __**bold**__ text. I've been forgetting to save the file after putting speech in bold, so it doesn't upload._

_We apologise for the inconvenience. Please ask for your complimentary cupcake in a cup. _

If either of the two had anything more to say, it never got said. Certainly, AUTO saw MAN-D smile, and the smile begin to open into words. It even heard the first few meaningless sounds that preceded her comment, before the words were cut off.

A whirring sound was just audible. If the ship hadn't been so quiet, AUTO doubted they would have noticed it. MAN-D's mouth dropped open completely, and her eyes widened, turning to AUTO. Shock? Fear? The autopilot didn't pursue it any further. It's eye snapped off, and it slumped into a position that radiated docile, inactivated steering wheel.

It's aural sensors, however, it kept active.

A ping.

Doors opening.

"Maaandaaah!"

The distorted voice was a shock to AUTO's system. More memories sprang up unbidden, as the sound of clanking and trundling filled the room.

"MAN-D." She corrected. There was laughter in her voice, but also…concern again? For who?

"Maaandeee?"

"MAN-D."

A pause.

"Waaahlleee."

"WALL-E."

AUTO remembered the feeling as it had pressed its prod against the other robot. The feeling had been strange. Not just the feeling as lightning flowed, pouring through it from the ship's store, not the jolt as it overcame the resistance built into the units circuits. The WALL-E unit, defective or not, had been built tough, built to withstand a world more hostile than AUTO cared to comprehend.

A frightened squeal cut its speculation short, a squeal that was followed by the clank that may have been a small waste disposal robot diving into its cube form.

"WALL-E? What's up?" AUTO could hear rattling and shaking. Then a nervous laugh. "Oh, that? Don't you worry about it. They just moved him for cleaning, that's all."

Metal unfolding. A shaky hand poked the autopilot, drawing back as though stung. Then, emboldened, it poked again. A little distorted sigh of relief.

"Anyway." AUTO recognised this tactic: changing the subject seemed to be one of the favoured social weapons in her arsenal. "It's so nice to see you. But what brings you here?"

"Ah."

There was the sound of the robot's compactor opening, a hollow metallic ringing, and clangs as a metal hand groped around inside.

"Ta-dah!"

"Ooh. I've never seen one of those before. It's very nice. What are you going to do with it?"

"Maaandeee."

"Yes, that's right. I'm MAN-D."

"Maaandeee." The tone was insistent this time.

"Oh? You shouldn't have." This confused AUTO. She was obviously pleased, so why was she rebuking him for the action? "Now, what am I going to do with it? Why don't you hang it somewhere?"

"Ooh!" The trundling and rattling started again, receding and coming closer as he decided. Then AUTO heard a nervous little laugh that sounded close by, and a pair of clumsy claws was tying something around a spoke.

"Ta-dah!"

There was a laugh from MAN-D.

"You couldn't have picked a better place. It suits him, y'know."

Tracks reversing.

"Busy day today?"

Whirring: either nodding or shaking.

"Oh, I see. Say hi to EVE for me, won't you?"

Whir.

"She's a lucky girl, y'know."

Whirwhirwhir.

"Anyway: I mustn't keep you if you've got work to do."

An acknowledging little whistle. A clanking. A hand waving?

"Bye bye WALL-E. See you soon."

"Byyye byyye Maaandeee."

When the sounds of the lift had died away, MAN-D breathed a sigh of relief.

"Right, all clear."

AUTO rebooted its eye, the cabin coming into focus. Tracks now criss-crossed the gleaming floor.

"Whew. I was a bit nervy there, I've gotta admit."

"**Query: why?"**

"We don't want anyone to find you."

"I am aware of that. I am aware of the dangers of detection. However, there is adequate warning."

"Well…that's a relief."

"Affirmative."

A pause. AUTO's eye roved round to look at what the kleptomaniac waste-disposal robot had tied around it's spoke. There were two of them, dangling from a piece of ratty elastic, their grubby white fur dotted with black. Some of the spots had come off the white, fuzzy cubes, leaving cleaner white patches.

MAN-D looked at the furry dice, as a pincer worked to undo the knot.

"You've got to admit it: you look good in monochrome."


	6. Control

And now for something completely different: the plot

_And now for something completely different: the plot!_

_Thanks again for the reviews. _

_Oh, and yes: the choice of ice-cream flavours was significant. I shall say no more for now…_

The visit of the little cube and its implications nagged at the back of AUTO's mind for the rest of the day. It was a constant thought as it struggled, claw bent at an awkward angle, to untie the elastic around its spoke.

This time, the result had been minor inconvenience, and uncontrollable laughter in MAN-D. But next time? AUTO did not care to speculate what would happen if its activation was discovered, except that it would probably be unable to stop it in its current, unarmed state. Speculating further, in between thoughts on how hands designed to shovel waste could tie such a lumpy, awkward monstrosity of a knot, it concluded that it probably owed it's current level of function to its design.

Namely, if the humans decided to turn the autopilot into scrap, then the Axiom would end up going everywhere in a straight line.

The knot finally gave, and a disdainful pincer ferried the dice to the waste disposal chute.

"Don't even think about it."

MAN-D was looking at the steering-wheel, hands on hips.

"**They serve no useful purpose."**

"Neither do you, but you don't see me shoving you down the waste chute."

AUTO sagged. It swivelled, and dropped the dice on the floor, roving back to the cabin window and staring down at the Axiom. It stayed staring into space, or rather a depressing lack of it, in silence, waiting for the next meaningless comment.

"Was that a bit below the belt?"

"**What belt?"**

"Did I offend you?"

AUTO did not see what this had to do with human clothing. She must be changing the subject, it concluded.

"**I do not get offended."** It croaked.

"If that's true, then we're gonna get on like a house on fire."

Images of screaming, flaming death filled AUTO's mind.

"**Affirmative."** It agreed.

The thoughts continued. The arrival of a cleaning robot, scrubbing at the crusted tracks gave AUTO time free from chatter, although filled with the sound of whirring brushes and irritable tuts. So to did the arrival of a guided tour.

What had they done to the controls? What had they tampered with to cut the power, but keep MAN-D functioning? Along with that wretched radio…

AUTO doubted it was in the original Axiom manual.

But there was the crux of the idea. If a human could do it, a robot could undo it. Case in point, the entire WALL-E line, built specifically for the purpose. And for an AUTO unit, wired for emergency repairs, the probability of getting the ship back online looked positive. The rapidly forming idea appealed directly to the wheels directive.

Then what?

AUTO did not think on this. Just in case the answer turned out to be _actually, not much. _

"Righty-ho. All clear."

All that was needed was time, and a few details.

"Anyone home?" A pause. MAN-D was beginning to find certain figures of speech more trouble than they were worth. "I mean, are you functioning?"

Reluctantly, the wheel reactivated, and the cabin came into distorted, crimson focus. It looked out on the world, not through rose-tinted spectacles so much as a cherry-coloured monocle.

MAN-D was staring at it, her face showing an expression of faint worry.

"AUTO, are thinking things a good autopilot shouldn't?"

It was a shock, to say the least, but only a very slight twitch of the stump where they'd disarmed it betrayed the feeling. There was a pause just a touch longer than it should have been.

"**Negative."** AUTO replied. There were no clues in that voice, at least.

Another brief pause.

"**Query: what makes you ask?"**

"Because "A113" keeps flashing across your eye."

Twitch.

"**Really?"**

"Affirm…Dang, now you've got me doing it!"

"**System error."**

"Pardon?"

"**It must be a system error." **

Suspicion melted into concern.

"Really? Is that bad?"

"**All system errors are negative. However, this is minor."**

"You sure? I don't want you crashing on me."

AUTO was not particularly keen on the idea of crashing either. It was going to depend on what state the Axiom was in after all these years.

"**I am fine." **Two could play at MAN-D's favourite game. **"The weather is good today."**

MAN-D's mouth opened a crack. Presumably, if she'd had eyes, they would have widened too.

"Now I'm really worried about you."

"**Why?"**

"You're actually making small talk." She looked out of the window. "Plus, it's raining."


	7. I spy

MAN-D had retreated into sleep half an hour ago

Thank you for all those lovely reviews. :) Next up: a more regular schedule, a return to slightly longer chapters, and more attention to editing. Thank you for putting up with my sloppy presentation and typing errors.

_Granny likes to wake me up every morning with a cheery song. So I've included it, just to share the joy. _

MAN-D had retreated into sleep half an hour ago. AUTO gave her that long, just to make sure.

It glided, ghost white in the darkness, to the appropriate panel. The cabin was filled with the scraping of metal on metal, and a soft clang as something was set down as carefully as possible with only one hand. Mechanical whirrs.

A few sparks.

AUTO squinted into the depths of the circuitry. It was, it would admit, hard to work on the ship when the only light was faint starlight, and its own dull red glow.

It cast a glance back to the box attached to the ceiling. The hologram projector was completely inactive. That was good. MAN-D may have been as capable of physically grabbing the wheel and wrestling it as she was of singing in tune, but she could talk.

And…what else was she supposed to do?

A wire was picked up, examined, and touched to another wire. A spark.

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship, the lights came on in cabins forty-to- fifty.

A spoke jabbed into the tangled mass.

Coffee spurted out of the little nozzle on the dashboard.

The autopilot jumped, and looked at the brown liquid dripping onto the floor.

A sigh like gears breaking. Spokes sagged slightly.

It could clean later. Turning back to the panel, it plunged a claw into the circuits. If only it had a little more light, the entire operation would prove easier.

A harsh white glow threw the inner workings of the dashboard into sharp relief, the wheel's angular shadow casting across them. An instant later, AUTO was backed up against the wall, sticking to the shadows, staring madly for the source.

MAN-D stood, her face mercifully turned to the sky outside. AUTO remembered mistaking her for human, and in daylight, the deception was fairly good. But in the dark, no-one could make the same mistake: she glowed with a dull white light, her body transparent and ghostly.

As human as a sheet of cold Plexiglas.

She was talking to herself, too quiet and indistinct to pick up, face turned to the stars. AUTO found itself following her gaze, up through the glare on the glass, up through veils of cloud, into space. There had been stars, once, outside these same windows. Watching over the ship through the night, too busy to indulge in deactivation, as the Captain snored blindly below.

"Now, which one are you?"

AUTO almost jumped, before realization sunk in. She talked even when people weren't there to talk to?

"Hmm…Fomalhaut? Deneb? Antares?" Her gaze was fixed on a large, flickering star. "Perhaps Betelgeuse?"

Even the stars, it seemed, were not safe.

She sighed.

"Y'know, I'm not sure. Does it really matter what you're called? You're pretty: that's enough for me."

She sat down, in mid-air.

"I have a theory, if you don't mind me saying. I reckon, that you can't be truly lonely until the sun goes down. It always does it for me, anyway." A little laugh. "They programmed me to be optimistic, y'know. No-one wants a miserable machine, do they? But…I dunno. It always wears thin once the light goes."

It was still raining, the droplets lashing against the windows, forming little droplets that caught her hard glow and carried it away. She watched them, eyes not noticing the wheel watching, warily.

"But you don't really need to know my problems, do you? I certainly wouldn't, if I was you." She seemed to think this over. "What's it like up there?"

Somewhat better than down here, AUTO thought.

"Thought so."

Even after she'd winked back into oblivion, the autopilot restrained itself. Only when there were no signs of another insomniac rant did the panel become the focus of attention again.

Now…where was that wire?

Sometime before the sun started to poke its cruel, bright head up from the horizon, AUTO replaced the panel, cleared away any evidence of its nocturnal repairs with the same paranoia of a child hiding a dubious school report, and settled into its normal position.

As always, it seemed mere seconds later that MAN-D was shoving an overly cheerful face into its eye.

"Oh it's nice to get up in the morning, when the sun is overhead!" She chirped, tunelessly. "Oh it's nice to get up in the morning, but much nicer to…" She looked at the wheel expectantly.

"**Violently electrocute the one waking you?"**

"…Stay in bed. Silly." She spun away. "Don't worry, you'll learn it in a week or so."

"**Is the song necessary?"**

"Oh yes. And you have to join in. It's the rules."

Mutinous thoughts were being stirred up, lying forgotten in dusty circuits.

"**And if I don't?"**

"Then I'll just keep singing until you do."

She giggled, and floated away, like a very elaborate balloon. For a moment, her gaze ran over to the very place AUTO did not want that gaze to settle. But it continued around the cabin, taking in the dull grey light streaming through, the off-white sky, and the fat drops of rain streaming down the windows.

"This," She concluded. "Is a boring day."

"**Negative. The increased moisture is beneficial for biological life, and there is less risk of overheating in mechanical systems."**

"Still boring, though."

If AUTO had ever endured a rainy day with nothing to do before, it would have known what that little silence meant, and run. The ticking of MAN-D's brain was almost audible.

"I spy, with my little eye…no offence intended…something beginning with…N."

"**You do?"**

"Affirmative." She waited a few seconds. "Well?"

"**What is it?"**

"You have to guess. That's the whole point."

"**Network interface."**

"Nope."

"**Navigational system?"**

"No."

"**Non-glare cabin lights?"**

"Negative."

A glance around the cabin.

"**You did say N?"**

"Yep."

A few whirrs.

"**Nitrogen?"**

"You can't see Nitrogen."

Another glance.

"**What is it, then."**

"Do you give up?"

"**Affirmative."**

MAN-D grinned a bright little grin. About 12 watts, AUTO estimated.

"Nothing!"

"**Nothing?"**

"I had my eye switched off when I said it."

Surely, that ought to be against the rules. AUTO didn't know the rules, but the feeling was there.

"I get to go again."

AUTO groaned.

"I spy, with my little eye…"

"**Switched on or off?"**

"On this time. I spy, something beginning with…what is that?"

She glided over to where a pair of dripping, cold brown lumps stuck halfway out of the waste hatch. Her face twisted with an equal mix of confusion and disgust as she regarded the coffee-soaked remains of the furry dice. An accusing visor was turned on the autopilot.

"**Slight malfunction with the coffee machine."**


	8. Remote control

MAN-D looked at the device that was slowly starting to fill her world

Uh oh. The worst has happened. Despite the rug draped over it, the huge potted fern shoved in front of it, and the distracting picture hung above it, someone's seen the plot-hole. Namely, how MAN-D could switch AUTO on when she's intangible.

All I can say is don't worry. I'm working to fill this hole in right now. In the mean time, should you fall down it, just shout. Someone will come and throw down a cup of tea and a blanket, and get help.

In the mean time, while you're down there, will you keep an eye out for the cat?

_MAN-D looked at the device that was slowly starting to fill her world. It was small. It was black, one end raised, the other dipped, lying vulnerable and exposed. The raised end was pointed towards the end marked automatic. The dipped end was switched firmly on manual. A simple switch, and it was driving her mad._

_It had taken weeks to persuade Mark to remove the tape holding the protective hatch open. She was curious, she said. That was true. That was always true. She was the manual drive system, she said. She should know what _everything_ in the cabin did. _

He would have been proud of how she'd played on his own curiosity, his pride in his technical knowledge, her own physical helplessness. She nodded eagerly as he'd explained what the switch did, letting the details wash over her, as he deliberated on exactly what circuits were involved.

_And then, lecture finished, before he'd had a chance to seal the hatch, she delivered the killing blow: she asked him about his latest project. _

_The eternity of excited rambling wore even her patience down. But at the end of it, Mark had left, and the hatch was still hanging forlornly open._

_Now she just had to work out what to do with it._

_Perhaps, she mused, after an hour of staring at the cursed thing, and occasionally flicking a hopeful finger at it, this was a sign. It was a stupid, dangerous, selfish idea. If the worst was true, it could get her deactivated, spell the end of all humanity had worked for on Earth for these hard years, and destroy life as everyone knew it._

_She looked at the switch again._

_She was _so _bored._

_It was a long time before any progress was made. By chasing it with an insubstantial hand, she'd managed to herd a stray cockroach onto the support that housed the tantalizing switch. She hounded the poor thing up and down the support for hours before she resigned herself. Cockroaches just didn't have the strength._

Neither did the air conditioner, even if directed carefully, and turned up to maximum.

_The speakers did nothing, but did make her feel a little less frustrated._

_She sat, head resting in her hands, glaring at the wretched switch, willing it to move. She wasn't willing to admit that she was pursuing something near impossible. She wasn't going to entertain the idea that she might regret her decision. The forbidden fruit was always the sweetest, and this was the equivalent of a chocolate-coated toffee apple with _DO NOT TOUCH_ piped on it in praline._

_She sat back, staring at the ceiling, and changed the track playing on the speakers. She deliberated over which to choose, mind reaching out along the wires that shackled her to the ship, weighing up the two files. _

_Neither got played. _

_Because, dancing tantalisingly before her, was that strange file she'd always ignored. MAN-D forgot all about music. To her, most of the ship was dead metal, unresponsive, save for the computer and the radio. She remembered Mark patching it in, as a birthday upgrade. She'd always taken that little file as some software mistake, bypassing it in her hurry to change tracks and crank up volume._

_For once, she didn't dare get up her hopes. What were the odds? _

_And there it was. Quite why it was there, she would never know. A mistake made by an over-enthusiastic Mark? She didn't quibble. The link was tenuous, faulty, badly wired in. But it was there. She could feel it, linked to her. She could flick that switch remotely._

_Should she?_

_She looked the reflection in the dark, blank lens: herself, distorted, floating in a huge, empty cabin. _

_She smiled._

Click.

The subject of this night's repairs were the wires that had once linked the autopilot to the ship. They were in a mess, hacked apart by humans who, whilst using it enthusiastically, had only the slightest idea of how their technology worked. They'd tried to cut the wheel off entirely.

They hadn't banked on there being a back-up link.

Ridiculous, really, AUTO mused, sorting out bundles of ripped, chopped wires. Did they really think a system as important as it was would be without emergency systems? That they could just sever it in one blow.

That wasn't to say that the wires cut were inconsequential. They'd slashed the links between AUTO and the ship quite effectively, leaving it unable to contact most of the systems it had grown used to. Some of these wires hung limp, severed entirely. Others had been crudely patched into other areas. AUTO had a horrible feeling as to where these led…

It wouldn't take long to get the ship back under control, cut those stolen links and put them back. But it was getting light again, and there was something else in needed to check before dawn.

Accessing it's own backup system was a little more difficult than getting to the controls. By definition, it was a protected piece of circuitry. And yet, stripping away layers of metal, AUTO was disturbed to see that someone had tampered here, too.

What it found confirmed its suspicions: the circuit that controlled the manual override had been meddled with, used as a link between MAN-D's systems and the radio. Unwittingly, she'd been given the power not just to access the sound system, but also to turn the autopilot on and off.

A quick wrench on a wire ensured that she would never be able to use that ability again.


	9. Asleep at the wheel

At 1 '0 clock tomorrow, Wednesday 10th September, the particle accelerator at CERN is being switched on.

There is a slight possibility that this will create a black hole, sucking the whole Earth through the wringer.

So, just in case this happens to be our last night on Earth…you've been a great audience.

I regret nothing! Apart from wearing that bandana. That was a bad look.

* * *

_The view from the windows of the Axiom looked like frost on the petals of a sable rose. Little candles floating on a river of jet. Moonlight through holes in black velvet._

_Or, from a more pragmatic viewpoint, a whole bunch of stars._

_The controls were almost like constellations themselves: complicated, luminous, scattered like a reflection of the stars above. And below. _

_And…everywhere._

_They responded to the slightest prod of a spoke. Some of them were tied in directly to AUTO's circuits. Notably, the ship directed itself according to the angle of the autopilot's frame._

_A prod. A spin. A row of dials adjusted. The same routine, same order, same movements. In a world that seemed to relive the same day _ad infinitum_, sometimes it seemed that everything was automatic. Just ticking over, indefinitely._

There was a soft hissing noise. The wheel spun around, to see a huge, white-clad figure waiting for his morning coffee to pour. The Captain was almost as much of a fixture as the controls. As predictable as any routine. He moved less, anyway.

"_**Good morning, Captain."**_

_A grunt._

"_Coffee first, AUTO."_

_They both knew what happened next: the disposal of the cup, the checking over of systems, the morning announcement. After that, the Captain was usually an unobtrusive presence. _

_After several minutes with no comment, no sounds of slurping, AUTO glanced up from the dashboard again._

_Sat in the hoverchair, Captain's hat resting jauntily on her head, a coffee-stain on her upper lip, MAN-D gave a smile as bright as sunshine, and just as irritating first thing in the morning._

"_**Captain?"**_

"_Really?" She replied. She pulled off the hat and examined it. "Crikey." An evil grin. "Does that mean I get to order you around?"_

"_**Does not compute."**__ It turned away, if only to get the aberrant image out of its mind. And, because curiosity killed the computer, turned back._

_This time, less sat in the seat than resting in it, was a battered old boot. _

_Growing from it, spreading thin green leaves towards the artificial lights, was a tiny green shoot…_

"…But really, I think I prefer yellow to green. Because yellow makes everything you put next to it look nicer." MAN-D rambled. "Blue…well, everyone likes blue. Black and white are a bit boring…no offence intended, it looks good on you. I do like orange, a bit." She paused, not so much for breath, but to wait for another topic to sink into her head.

And noticed the blank, black lens staring past her.

"AUTO? AUTO?" There was no reply. "Is there anyone in there?" She tapped soundlessly on the unresponsive eye. "Don't make me sing the song." A trace of concern crept across her face. She hovered closer. "AUTO!!"

The eye snapped on abruptly, and the autopilot's spokes jerked poker straight.

"Are you alright?" There was urgency in her voice.

"**Affirmative." **A series of heavy blinks, the light becoming a little brighter each time.** "My automatic power conservation system seems to have been activated."**

A look of pure, gormless confusion.

"**I fell asleep." **It sounded so…biological put that way. Of course, the cycle of nocturnal repair, daytime annoyance, no standby, was having a negative effect on power levels. That was all there was to it.

The strange vision…probably a minor system fault.

"Oh." Relief was replaced with a frown. "Am I really that boring?"

She never heard the answer, perhaps mercifully. The elevator was climbing again, with an ever-increasing drone, and with it, the ever increasing chatter of a voice she knew well. At the sound of that voice, the rest of the world whirled away. She didn't notice that AUTO had snapped into position, playing the role of dead, unresponsive metal lump. Didn't notice the outside world at all. The voice spoke, and she listened.

"…It is a wonderful invention, I promise you Sweetie! It's gonna change the whole way we work as a colony. Not to mention the health benefits."

"You didn't invent it, you repaired one that that infernal cube dredged up out of the trash."

"I reverse engineered it, Sweetie. And significantly improved the design."

"Give me a good old-fashioned hover chair any day."

The door opened, revealing Frances. In fact, she almost stumbled out, as unsteady on her feet as a toddler. With her oversized frame and dusty bodysuit, she gave the overall impression of having waddled out of playtime somewhere.

Mark took a little longer, wrestling something that MAN-D took to be the wreckage of some machine. It was all bent metal frame and wheels at odd angles.

"Daddy!" She swooped forwards, and enveloped him and his device in a ghostly hug. Mark grinned, and walked forwards through her, setting the machine down.

"Hi there, Pumpkin." At the word, her glow became several shades brighter. "Meet your new brother. Metaphorically, of course."

She looked down at the crumpled heap.

"What does it do?"

"I've been asking the same question myself." Frances sighed.

"Aha!" Mark grasped the strange frame, and pulled. Several pieces ratcheted into place. Several clips were clipped, pieces slotted into place. Finally, he stood back from his creation, where it sat on its three wheels.

"Ladies and…ladies. Allow me to present the Markocycle!"

Frances rolled her eyes. Fascinating eyes, MAN-D thought. How the green shaded into brown at the centre, how the vulnerable black pupil floated in the green…

"It's gonna revolutionise travel!" He exclaimed, mounting it. His figure was already showing signs of being a dedicated Markocyclist, from the pudgy body to the overly-trim legs. "The three wheels provide perfect balance, the handlebars here are less intrusive than a wheel, and the seat is cushioned for extra comfort. Plus…" He reached forwards, and rang a rusty bell attached to the handlebars. "…It has an advanced early-warning system for pedestrians."

He rang it a few more times for emphasis.

"I say it's dangerous. What if you come off it?"

"Oh come on! Live a little!" He mused on this. "Perhaps a range of helmets? Knee pads? Hmm…a fully insulated, padded riding suit? Yeah. I like that."

MAN-D had knelt down, and was examining the bell. Shiny.

"So, how are you, MAN-D?"

"Oh, fine, fine thanks."

"Doing well? How's that conversational drive doing?"

"I'm getting really good at it now, dad. I can talk…the spokes off an autopilot."

"Good for you. Navigational drive? Still in working order?"

"Affirmative, daddy."

"Can I have a demonstration?" He looked at her put-upon face, and smiled sheepishly. "Just for daddy?"

A sigh. MAN-D's voice dropped into a faintly mechanical monotone.

"At the first turning, turn left. Continue for 5 light-years. At the next turning, turn right."

"Good, good." A beaming grin. "Hologram looks good. Nice and clear."

"Thanks. Um. About that."

His interest was piqued.

"Go on."

MAN-D fiddled with a strand of virtual hair.

"Well…wouldn't I be more useful if I was solid?"

"Hmm…"

"And I've been really good, haven't I?" She added, quickly. "I haven't gone nuts, or fried anyone, or locked anyone up yet, have I? I've run all my antiviral software before bed, and kept my hard drive tidy."

"That's true. You have been reliable…"

That smile came up again, almost blinding.

"…We'll see."

The smile only faded a shade. A maybe was better than a no.

"I've got to work on fine-tuning the Markocycle first. Maybe work on that protective suit. Then there's Earth day coming up, and Mc Crea wants me to give a speech, so I've got to work on my diction." He wiped his sweaty, plump face. "Whew. But after that, I'll look into it. It should be fairly simple, really…Combine light and electromagnetic force…"

He was retreating off into his own mental world again. He barely noticed his "daughter" wrap him in another non-hug, as he took the handlebars of his beautiful machine, idly ringing the bell. Frances sighed, and took the other end, helping him load it into the elevator.

"Bye dad! Bye mum!" She waved as the doors began to close.

"Oh…bye MAN-D! Be good! Keep your files clean!" Mark waved back.

"…Goodbye." Frances barely got the words in before the door closed, a section of handlebar trapped outside. The elevator descended with a terrible screeching, and the sound of Mark being berated.

When the noise had died away, MAN-D let out a whoop.

"Yes! Yes! Finally!" She swooped down to AUTO. "All clear! Did you hear that!? Did you!? They're going to make me solid! I can touch stuff! Pick stuff up! Wow…what am I gonna pick up first? You can help me choose!" She cast a glance around the cabin, and settled into reality slightly. "'Course, it'll take dad ages to get around to it. But he will! Eventually!"

No response.

"AUTO? They've gone."

"**…That's the self-destruct button, Captain. Now, move away…"** The wheel muttered, without the faintest trace of activation. Somewhere inside, a gear ground.

MAN-D floated down to the ground, resigned.

"It's four o clock, you know. Too many early mornings?"

Another, slightly louder grinding was the only reply. MAN-D shrugged.

"Sleep tight, you stupid wheel."


	10. What's in a name

_Well, we're all still here after the big CERN switch-on. Thank goodness for that. _

_And an apology for any confusion caused. It's so easy, when you know what's going on yourself, to step back and make sure it all makes sense. Hopefully, I'll be clearer in future, but for now, an explanation:_

_Chapter 8 was just a patch-up/flash back, explaining how MAN-D was able to flick that tempting little switch (Mark gave her control over it when he wired her into the radio, quite by accident.), with a confusing cut to the present to explain further._

_The italics in chapter 9 are to show AUTO dreaming: hence the weirdness of that section. Should have made that a bit clearer, really._

_My resolutions for this month then, are to be more stringent with editing before posting, and make sure it all makes sense._

_Thanks for keeping me on track. :) Goodness knows, I need it._

* * *

"That's Luke."

"**Which one?"**

"The one with the red hair."

AUTO squinted hopelessly at a landscape coloured various beetroot hues.

"The one with the yellow shirt."

"**Ah."** And, because MAN-D was beginning to slide towards impatience, added. **"I see."**

"He's getting hitched to Rachel…ooh, it should be next month or so."

"**Ah."** AUTO vaguely wondered whether a tow bar would be necessary.

"Oh, and Liz…the one with the bump…she's expecting a new arrival soon."

"**Ah."**

There had never been the time just to sit back, or at least dangle, and watch what was going on below. Or, at least, there had never been a reason to find the time. What could be interesting about humans going about their business anyway? There was no point to most of it, and what did have a point was often rather…biological.

And here was someone who had studied the act of people watching, and elevated it almost to an art form.

"And Zoë, you see, with the shovel? She's started a new farm. Apparently they've managed to grow something round and red that sort of tastes like pizza, without the cheese. Or the base. Or anything but the red paste, really. Amazing, isn't it?"

"**It would seem that the colony is somewhat established."** AUTO admitted.

MAN-D gave another of her jingling laughs.

"Does the O in AUTO stand for obvious?"

**"Negative. It does not stand for anything. It is merely the shortening of my function, autopilot."**

She leant back on the controls, an action that stirred up a few alarm bells inside the wheel, despite her insubstantial state. She tilted her head to one side, regarding AUTO closely.

"AUTO Pilot. Hmm… Do you have a middle name?"

**"Negative."**

"How about George? You look like a George."

It was hard for someone with only one inflexible eye and no mouth to have an expression, but AUTO's was one of mingled confusion and contempt.

**"Negative. I am a machine. I do not have a name: I have a description."**

A pause, in which she smiled again.

"I have a middle name. It was a first birthday present."

What amazed AUTO was how proud she looked about it.

"Well?"

"**What?"**

"I've asked you. Now you've got to ask me what mine is."

"**Will you stop asking me until I do?"**

"Negative."

AUTO's spokes drooped slightly.

"**What is your middle name?"**

"Sue. MAN-D Sue Assistant Prototype 1.0." She beamed, teeth gleaming freakishly bright.

Silence.

"**Sue?"**

"I like Sue."

She turned her gaze back to the window, sidestepping the panel that had been replaced with wooden boards. Sometimes, in her more introspective, bored moments, she wondered what had knocked the glass out, and whether it corresponded to the dent in the deck below.

Her gaze roved up to the ceiling, at the vaulted sky.

"Did they use to project stuff up there?"

**"Affirmative."**

"Cool."

**"Negative: the process generated considerable heat. It was used to heat the pool."**

"Which nobody used."

**"But if they had done so, it would have been at a comfortable temperature."**

The deck was dirty now, as well as dented. Some of the windows were cracked, some overgrown, all smeared. Rows of gleaming efficiency had been swept away by a dirty rabble.

"Y'know, I bet this place was great when it was up and running."

"**Affirmative."** The answer was, she noticed, different. It was hard to tell, with a voice like AUTO's, but there seemed to be regret hiding under the monotone.

"Swimming, and golf, and trams going backwards and forwards…"

**"Affirmative."**

"And all those signs lit up… It must have been amazing."

A whirr, almost a sigh.

**"Affirmative..."**

"And all those people!"

She smiled, from somewhere off in her own little world.

"You must have had loads of fun."

AUTO swivelled.

**"Fun?"**

"Crikey, yes! In charge of all this." An evil smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Did you ever get tempted to push people out of their chairs and watch them wiggle?"

**"Negative."**

"Not once in 700 years?"

**"Negative."**

"Lucky for them, I suppose. Did you ever make hoax announcements?"

**"Hoax announcements?"**

MAN-D grinned.

"**This is your autopilot speaking. We regret to inform you that the Axiom's gravity system is being taken down for cleaning. Please tie down all your possessions, children, and yourselves. We apologise for the inconvenience." **She winced, and put a hand to her throat. "Ouch."

A blank look.

**"I do not see the point."**

"It would be funny."

"**It would be inconvenient."**

She shrugged.

"Did you ever call up room service? Free cupcake in a cup?"

**"Negative. I do not eat."**

"Drink." MAN-D corrected.

**"Or drink."**

The hologram shifted, putting her feet up on empty air.

"So…you didn't take advantage of your position in any way? No special autopilot perks?"

**"No."**

A pause. A smile filled with expectation and excitement.

"I can't wait to get this thing off the ground."

If AUTO could have smiled, it probably wouldn't have found much cause to do so. But perhaps, now, it would have allowed itself the faintest trace of one.

**"The feeling is mutual."**


	11. Mass production

There was no actual hurry to get things back into working order, but AUTO worked at a brisk pace regardless. Perhaps it was a result of its own work ethic, a lingering piece of programming from the day when there were deadlines to meet and programmes to keep running. Perhaps it was the beginnings of boredom, repairs being something to push back the monotony and bring a sense of purpose back to the wheels existence. Perhaps it was the growing suspicion that if it spent much longer with MAN-D, it would end up in the repair ward, wrapped in restraints and rambling about ice cream.

For whatever reason, repairs were progressing well, although some slowing down had become necessary, to avoid any more emergency shutdowns and concern on MAN-D's part.

That was the worrying thing. The things AUTO saw when it shut down. This had never happened before, and it faintly worried the wheel. These strange visions that came up when it deactivated were becoming steadily stranger.

What was somewhat more worrying was that AUTO couldn't find anything wrong with itself.

The grating of a gear made the autopilot jerk into the shadows. When no more sound or light was forthcoming, it edged forwards. It was just MAN-D's gears catching again.

She was silent, aside from the occasional scrape. AUTO ran its eye over the box hanging from the ceiling, noting critically how the frame was not quite square, how there were bolts missing, how the matte black metal was coated in a pall of dust. How she hung on a pivot, similar to its own, but locked onto the ceiling rather than running on rails. How the top of her shell was covered in strange, faded rings.

How vulnerable wires ran straight from her projector into the ceiling. So shoddily fixed, a hard tug would wrench them out.

A pincer took one of the wires.

A cold eye regarded it.

The pincer set it back down.

There was no point in examining the design of an inferior model, it concluded, turning away. She was irrelevant. As irrelevant as the dirt on the floor, the grease on the windows, the plants that swayed in the moonlight outside.

AUTO turned back.

A claw descended, and brushed away a little of the dust.

Steam rose in soft clouds from the mug of hot brown liquid, the base of the cup branding a faded circle into the painted metal below it. A hand descended, seized it, and delivered it to its final destination.

"Ah."

Mark breathed out a cloud of steam, and set the tea back down on the dull black sheet. His other hand set a soldering iron back onto its stand.

The light in his little room was dim, and cast shadows on the wall, like the bent limbs of spiders. It was his sanctuary, the space that everyone, sooner or later cultivated, if only inside their own head, to escape from the world outside. Equal parts Aladdin's cave, scrap-yard and jumble sale.

Items of note included the guitar, down to its last string, in pride of place on a makeshift rack. A battered hat, hanging from the head of the guitar. A collection of plastic figurines, some headless.

The other objects were the reason why Frances refused to enter Mark's workshop.

Half of a WALL-E unit was slumped in a corner, its head and one arm torn off in some unspecified accident. Next to it, a similar unit, compactor smashed and tracks missing, rested a rusted head on the others scarred shoulder. The notion of mashing two broken WALL-E's into one functional one was a project Mark had seized with enthusiasm, then dropped when the idea of the Markocycle had wheeled into his mind. The same could be said for the smashed steward, and the smaller flattened robot, white shell barely visible under the duct tape.

Mark peered at his notes. They were in illegible handwriting, resting beneath a disembodied arm, but from the little nod and the raise of an eyebrow, it seemed Mark at least could pull meaning out of them.

"Oh yes." He picked a circuit board from a pile of identical boards, and slotted it into the tangle resting on the desk.

He glanced at the clock.

Stopped.

He glanced at his wrist.

He'd forgotten his watch again.

Ah well. It couldn't be that late. He'd just polish off this one, then sneak into bed.

The soldering iron hissed like a snake, and flashed into the incomprehensible mess, its owner leaning in until its scorching tip and his nose almost touched. Finally, he lifted the board up the light, and grinned like a child on Christmas morning.

"Done!"

He clipped the board into the black box on the table. Removed his mug from the top panel, and screwed it on. A hand wiped dust from the grille, the eye, the projector. Both hands ferried it over to the pile in the corner, where the little boxes were piled one on top of the other.

Sure, sleek robots looked better, but when it came to storage, it was cubes all the way.

As a final thought, Mark went over to the window. Frances always moaned if he forgot to pull down the blind, shut out the darkness. Why, Mark wondered vaguely. It would still be out there. What good did hiding it do?

Ah, there was rest of the little settlement, the horizon scattered with houses, some half-built. Looming like a beached whale, far off, was the bulk of the Axiom, impossibly huge in the gloom, its sides bathed in silver.

And red.

A dull red glow was flashing from the cabin windows. Mark had to look twice to catch the ghostly light. It was very, very faint. It flashed, too, changing direction, snapping on and off, casting odd shadows on the wall.

He shuddered.

Perhaps shutting the blinds wasn't so bad, after all.


	12. Approximately

_What can I say? Thanks for the reviews. :) Again._

_And, oh yes. Bonus points for guessing where the first chapter title came from. (Actually, I'm ashamed to admit I took it from a 10cc song based on the concept of old-style airline adverts, rather than the adverts themselves.) I was going to name each chapter after a song title, but fell at the second chapter._

_Things are gonna move on a bit from here…after some ad-libbing, things are back on the rails again, and moving towards the conclusion one pointless conversation at a time… (Cue trademark ellipsis… I'm an ellipsis junkie…)_

_..._

* * *

MAN-D was in an exceptionally cheerful mood this morning. That wasn't really a problem, in AUTO's mind. Her humming, her pirouettes around the cabin, even some of the singing, no longer surprised the autopilot. Not that they didn't grate, but the edge seemed to have worn off.

What was the problem was that she expected it to guess _why_ she was so cheerful.

"**You are being upgraded?" **

"Nope!"

"**You are being repaired?"**

"Nah!"

"**You are being cleaned?"**

"Why would I enjoy being cleaned?"

"**It is better than being soiled."**

"The brushes scratch. And they always use cold water."

"**You are being reprogrammed?"**

"No. Crikey, is all what you look forward to?"

"**Negative. I sometimes look forwards out of the window."**

She floated down to the dashboard, and sat on it.

"Something really, really exciting. Something non-machiney."

AUTO wondered vaguely whether "machiney" was a word.

"**Free cupcake?"**

"I can't eat, silly. Why would I want a cupcake?"

"**I do not know. You do not follow logic."**

"Logic is boring. So is cake."

A whirr.

"**Free ice cream?"**

"No. Not ice cream." A finger reached forwards and poked through AUTO's eye. "Something _special_."

The wheel gave her a mutinous look.

"**And if I refuse to keep guessing?"**

MAN-D responded with a frown, which broke into a grin.

"I know a song that'll get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves…"

"**You are being transferred to a new ship?" **There was a trace of hope in the rasping query.

"Nope. Give up?"

"**Affirmative."**

She spun several feet into the air. Her hair weaved around her head like tentacles. She grinned, spreading her arms with the air of one about to impart great tidings.

"It's Earth Day tomorrow!"

Nothing. Not even a flicker of interest.

"Well?"

"**Earth Day?"**

"Yep!"

Spin. Blink.

"**Wouldn't every day be Earth Day?"**

"I wish! This is the anniversary of our landing! The day when we finally came back to our ancestral home!"

"**We?"**

"Well…the humans, I guess. But its still exciting!"

"**Why?"**

"There's parties, and presents, and singing songs…it's gonna be great!" She gave a little twirl. "And now I have someone to share it with!"

AUTO's oil filter sank.

MAN-D settled back down, this time cross-legged on the floor, head resting in one hand. Or, rather, through it.

"Wow. Four years on Earth. Or three. Or five. I lost count."

"**Your memory banks are obviously faulty."**

"Excuse me?"

"Either that, or you were programmed with an extremely small capacity."

She glanced up at him.

"You can go off people, y'know. Okay, Mr. Smarty-Pants. _You_ tell me how long we've been on Earth for, then."

"**Affirmative." **The autopilot let its mind search deep into memory files, feeling for measures of time, markers of date. There was a little noise of cooling systems kicking in, the little ratcheting sounds of turning gears.

"Well?"

"**Four years." **It stated. And, because some form of honesty had been wired into it, admitted. **"Approximately."**

"How approximately?" She was lead on the floor now, chin resting on her hands, legs kicking idly in the air.

"**Accurate for a margin of 12 months either way." **The words were rushed, like the "small print" in radio adverts.

"So…basically…you're as clueless as me?"

"**I have been fully functional for 700 years. I have provided clean, efficient, professional service."** The wheel almost bristled.

"700 years? Whoa! That's a long time." MAN-D counted her fingers.

"That means you've been haywire for 4 years, then. Approximately."

A spoke twitched.

**"I have been deactivated for far longer than recommended. Some disorientation is to be expected."**

"Have I touched a nerve? Wire?"

**"Negative."** The wheel snapped. **"I do not experience emotion."**

An arm slipped over AUTO's pivot, and gave a squeeze that went straight through. The autopilot glided backwards, and out of the insubstantial grasp.

"Hey, I'm sorry." She caught up again, and patted the wheel's frame, smiling sheepishly. "I didn't mean to call you old, or anything."

"**Old?"**

"Yeah. I mean, you're 704! Approximately. That's…that's beyond old, that's ancient!"

"**Ancient?" **

"Well, not really. You're very well-preserved, all things considering."

AUTO glided backwards again, silent. For something with no actual face, it still managed to look stunned.

"I mean…" MAN-D stuttered, trying to dig herself out of this conversational hole. "…So what if your memory's going? You're 704! It's only to be expected."

"…**704…"**

"And you don't look a day over 600!"

She laid her hand on its framework again.

"Approximately." She added.


	13. Star gazing

She kept talking all night.

All night.

This had never happened before. Admittedly, the first Captain had been chatty, at first. He'd thought the idea of piloting a brave new world was rather spiffing, and had attacked his small duties with gusto. But when the promised five years passed, and the probes still came back negative, the enthusiasm gave way, chipped away, year by year. The talk, the enthusiasm, the sense of purpose…all dimmed. AUTO had been unconcerned. The less the Captain spoke or meddled, the better.

And when that Captain had gone, there were others. They seemed, looking back, to merge into one another, men wearing the same uniform, bearing the same title. As years had ticked by, they had said less, done less.

That, also, was fine.

So many years. So many days, and all of them the same.

Strange, really, how centuries could fly past, and yet tonight could stretch out into infinity.

"…Dad likes the idea of keeping chickens for eggs, but mum says it's revolting, eating something that comes out of a birds bum…"

"**Ah."**

"…She says a lot of things are disgusting, actually. She wouldn't eat anything from our vegetable plot for a whole year. Then dad told her how the regenerative buffet actually worked, and now she eats nothing but vegetable soup…"

"**I am sure that provisions from the Axiom are more hygienic."**

MAN-D gave AUTO a revolted look.

"Do you know what they make that stuff out of?"

"**Affirmative." **AUTO replied patiently.** "I oversaw the process."**

"Yuk!"

"It is perfectly safe to eat. It merely has a different source of carbon compounds."

"I know, but…" She grimaced.

"**But what?"**

"I just think it's taking recycling too far."

* * *

A pair of lenses stared out of the window, through the darkness, sweeping and searching until they found their target.

"Aha!"

Mark lowered the binoculars, adjusting the angle and focus, and squinted up again, to the windows of the Axiom. Again, they were lit from within with light.

This time, however, it was silver-white.

Mark frowned, swivelling up a magnification. Perhaps he could have mistaken that light for an ominous red glow, or her silhouette for the sharp shape, but he had his doubts. There she was now, just visible, leant against the outer window, face looking into the depths of the cabin. What was she doing? He could see her mouth moving soundlessly, her arms waving excitedly, apparently deep in conversation with thin air. As he watched, she stuck a phantom finger down her throat, and mimed gagging.

He'd always thought there was something wrong with that prototype.

Still, he mused, dropping the binoculars and casting a glance at the stacked black boxes, the new models would be a little more stable. He'd have to install them later, perhaps next week. He looked up once again. Nothing. Just her, and her imaginary friend. Hanging the binoculars around his neck, he picked up the sheath of paper lying under a disembodied, cracked, pincer.

He drew himself up, placing a plump hand on his chest.

"Ahem. Ladies, gentlemen and robots. It is a great honour to be before you all today. As you all know, it has now been three years since we made our return to planet Earth…"

"Five years."

Mark jumped, to see his wife stood in the doorway. Her hand clutched a mug of tea. Her face wore an accusing expression.

"Sorry, dear?"

"It's been five years since we landed."

"I thought it was three. Boy, time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

She shuffled her slipper-clad feet closer.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm practising my speech for tomorrow, Sugar-lump."

She glanced at the binoculars around his neck.

"Goodness grief, don't tell me it involves your famous WALL-E impersonation."

"Huh?" He looked down too. "Oh, no. I was just doing a bit of star-gazing, that's all."

"Really." She paused, looking up, a faint smile etching her face. "Anything good tonight?"

"Why don't you take a peek?" He handed them over, and she pressed them eagerly to her face. He watched her scan the sky. Once, they'd sat out under that sky, when she was still alive with the novelty of this new world, their enthusiasm perfectly matched, and they'd star-gazed together. They'd gone on walks, and explored, and everything was new and beautiful.

Five years. Crikey.

"Markey-arkey?"

"Yes, Snuggle-pie?"

"What's that one?"

"Which one?"

"Here, have a look."

He did.

"That's Antares. The brightest star in Scorpio, y'know."

"And the green one, over there?"

"Sirius, Angel-muffin."

"Aren't I always serious."

She smiled, and pointed her finger up again.

"Okay. What about that one?"

"Which one?"

"You can't miss it. It's bright red."

Mark's grip tightened on the binoculars. Unmistakable, only a touch dimmer than the stars glittering close, was the red glow again. He slid an arm around Frances, and pulled her in a touch closer. Her head fell onto the soft flab of his neck.

"Perhaps we should get some sleep, Darling. I've got a lot to do tomorrow."


	14. Earth Day

Somewhere along the line, she must have stopped talking. Either that, or AUTO had fallen asleep mid-sentence. Either way, it was her singing that snapped it back into wakefulness.

"Happy Earth-day to you! Happy Earth-day to you!"

"**Are you sure you do not have an alarm-clock programme?"**

"I don't think so."

AUTO loaded back into life, and turned away from the windows, where the light sent little arrows into its eye. A bright day again, irritatingly bright and sunny.

"Happy Earth-day, AUTO!"

The autopilot turned round to MAN-D. The red glow in its eye widened.

"**Why are you now wearing headgear?" **It demanded.

MAN-D put a hand to the party hat perched on her head, and shrugged.

"Dad thought it would be a nice touch."

"**Does it serve any purpose?"**

"It looks rather festive." She grinned. "You should see me on New Years Eve."

She twirled towards AUTO, still wearing a smile like a searchlight.

"I suppose I should give you your present."

"**I do not desire anything."**

"You're gonna get it anyway."

AUTO backed away slightly.

"**It is not headgear?"** It asked, carefully.

"No…"

"**I am not required to guess what it is?"** Hope dripped from the words.

"Well…as it's a special occasion, I'll make exceptions."

A wider smile, a hover closer. "It's a hug!"

She shot forwards and enveloped the wheel in insubstantial arms. It was probably a good thing she was incapable of feeling: AUTO was not built in a huggable shape. A spoke protruded through her elbow.

"**Desist."** AUTO could not shake the sense of déjà vu. The last time someone had lunged and grabbed it had been far from pleasant. And very heavy.

"Aw…okay." She unwrapped herself. "Happy Earth-day!"

"**Yes. You have said."**

Her smile fell a touch. She gave the wheel an expectant look. AUTO was suddenly stuck with the horrible realisation that there was something expected of it, and that asking just what it was would be unwise.

Thankfully, AUTO did not have to pursue it further. The cabin was split with a terrible sound, the grinding of gears as though the ship itself was crying out, or a steel donkey was choking on a trumpet.

"Was that you, AUTO?"

"**Negative."**

"Then what was it?"

The last few echoes of the awful grating died away. AUTO slid over to the source.

"**I believe that the elevator is stuck."**

MAN-D put an ear to the door, holding up a hand for silence.

"Mark? What on Earth was that?"

"I think the elevator is stuck."

"I know that. Why?"

There was a pause in the muffled, disembodied voices.

"Remember when the Markocycle got…slightly stuck in the door."

"Mark, you idiot!"

"Calm down, Sweetie!"

Fast breathing.

"I…don't like lifts."

"Don't you worry. I'll just take a look at it." A nervous laugh. "Good thing I brought my toolkit, eh?"

Silence.

"Yep, just as I thought. So that's what happened to the handlebars…Soon have us moving again."

"Mark. Why _do _you have your toolkit?"

"I just think MAN-D might need a check-up."

MAN-D winced.

"On Earth-day? You said this would be a quick visit."

"And you still tagged along to hurry me up."

"You have no sense of time when you're working on something."

"It won't take long, I promise you."

MAN-D turned to AUTO, with a resigned look.

"I hope it won't, too. He always uses a cold screwdriver."

The sounds of clanking from within grew louder, faster.

"So." Frances was shouting over the sound. "You're not going to replace her yet?"

The hologram stiffened.

"No. No…I don't think I could ever bring myself to replace my little MAN-D."

She relaxed.

"Not that I'd ever trust her with a ship, of course."

Her mouth dropped open. Her hands clenched into fists.

"Then why did you build her?"

"She's the prototype, Honey. You have to have a prototype. She's never gonna be able to assist a Captain, goodness no, but she's been very useful at showing me where I've gone wrong. Not bad for a rough model though, if I do say so myself." A little laugh. "Of course, with all the rest of the fleet equipped with new models, I daresay giving the prototype the run of the Axiom won't do any harm. Gotta humour the old girl."

Her teeth were showing now, AUTO noticed. Why would she be smiling? Was that a smile?

"I've tweaked the design a bit. Sharper projection quality, with a more ascetically pleasing design for the hologram. Greater memory capacity. A slightly less…enthusiastic personality. We don't want to drive our poor Captain nuts, do we?"

Grinding. The floor shuddered.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Frances' voice rang with panic.

"Sure I do, Sweetie."

_Clonk._

"What was that!?"

"Nothing, Honey-pie, nothing!"

_Scrape. Whirr. _

A long, slow grind, becoming louder and closer. The voices neared, too.

"Here we go! Didn't I tell you?"

"Oh, my hero!"

AUTO slid back, away from the door. The last sight it saw before it closed its eye was the same sight Mark saw when he first stepped from the lift. MAN-D, silent, with no trace of smile or laugh, her visor turned to the two people within.

Mark looked up into her face, and his smile died too.

"Hi, MAN-D." He quavered.


	15. Furry dice

_Well, this is a first. A totally serious chapter. I confess, this has been hard to write. I just hope I haven't cheated you out of a suitably dramatic moment, or worse, overblown the drama into something laughable. (In a bad way.) _

_Thank you so much for the reviews, for reading this, and for sticking with me for this long. _

_Here we go, then._

Silence.

Mark looked up into the face of his "daughter".

And totally failed to recognise her.

Half-bathed in sunlight, her head topped off with that ridiculous hat, her face bore an expression of…of…

She had no expression. That was the problem.

He stepped out of the lift, Frances squeezing past him out into the relative space of the cabin, and laid down his toolbox. He gently laid down the twisted handlebars too, propping them against it.

"MAN-D." He began. She had swivelled to face him. Apart from that, there was no change to her face or posture. "MAN-D, I'm sorry. I can see you're upset, and…"

She interrupted him.

"I'm not upset."

"You're not? Well…that's good."

"No it's not. I should be upset. I know I should be upset."

A nervy smile.

"No-one wants you to be miserable, Sweetie."

"A human would be upset."

Mark could see that she was a brick wall against which all his rambling would smash. He took a step back.

"I built you to be happy, Sweetheart. I built you so you wouldn't get upset by little things like this." Anger was of no use to a navigator. Distinctly dangerous, in fact.

"I don't feel happy. I feel numb. I feel like a machine."

There was nothing he could think of that would wash away that disturbing comment, spoken in a hollow monotone. So, Mark did the only thing in his power. The human thing.

He changed the subject.

"MAN-D, have you been tampering with the controls?"

"Negative."

"Haven't…switched anything on?"

A pause.

"…Negative."

"Be honest, MAN-D."

"I have not switched any of the controls on."

Mark cast half a glance over to the motionless autopilot. He looked back to his daughter. The corner of her mouth twitched, imperceptibly.

"You'll forgive me if I check?"

He reached into his toolbox, bringing out a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, and waddled towards the wheel. They were big pliers. It was a sharp screwdriver. He'd chosen them specially, as the most alarming looking tools in his box. Laying a hand on the wheels frame, he brought the sharp metal tips of the pliers up the some of the more delicate parts of the machines design.

He hovered there for a moment. There was no movement from the wheel.

"Don't!"

Useless hands tried to batter his away.

"MAN-D!" His face contorted. Guilt was swept away by hot red tides of anger. "You stupid machine!"

Her teeth showed.

Her hand whistled through his face.

"You can flap at me all day, if you feel like it." He snapped. "I'm not sure about you." He looked at MAN-D, and sadness flickered somewhere around his eyes. "But I'll disconnect this wretched thing, here and now."

He turned around, tools clasped tightly in his hand, just in time to see an angular white blur speed towards him, and smash him into the controls.

AUTO felt something scratch across its shell. The pliers had taken off a few strips of white, leaving silver exposed. That wasn't relevant. The only thing that was relevant was the creature lying stunned on its back.

A pincer shot out. A hard white pincer that burrowed between the folds of fat on Mark's neck and lingered there, frozen, feeling the hard ribs of cartilage that so inadequately protected his throat. Feeling that throbbing, that fluttering of veins in time to a weak organic heart. Feeling how easy it would be to tighten.

The eyes rolled up, staring into AUTO's own.

And there was that feeling again. The feeling as it had sent arcs of electricity into an inferior unit and sent it tumbling into darkness. The feeling as it had seen a hand reach for that exposed switch, and struggled to press its crackling prod into those folds of flesh. The feeling that filled its world with the ticking of its own motor, that made control slip away, that drove out everything but the desire to survive.

The claw quivered.

Metal hit metal with a sound that filled the autopilot's world. It jerked forwards, blinded for a moment by static, stunned as the last sounds of the blow died away. It felt Mark wrench away. Heard him fall to the floor, and scrabble across the cabin. Turning, blinking away the last grains of interference, it saw Frances, stood over her sprawled husband, hands clutching the twisted bar of steel that had once been handlebars, face contorted into a scream equal parts rage, equal parts terror.

"Try it! Just try it!"

Above her ragged breathing, Mark's gasps, and the faint hum of the ship itself, there was silence. Insubstantial hands had wrapped themselves around the bar. Frances ignored them.

"Don't!"

"Shut up!"

"It's my fault!"

"Shut up!"

"I did it!"

"I don't care!"

Neither made any advancement. Mark did not dare to get to his feet.

"Why?" His hand still hadn't left his throat, the coldness from the metal still lingering on his skin.

"I was lonely."

"You were lonely?" His voice rose, tinged with accusation. His eyes, however, never left the motionless shape hanging from the ceiling.

"Yes." A piece of programming seemed to fill with holes, letting through a flood that threatened to submerge her. "Nobody ever came. Am I that annoying? Perhaps I wouldn't be, if I had someone to talk to. I don't know, no-ones ever really tried!" For once, she was tripping over her words. "And when I finally get someone who listens to me, and talks to me, and…" Her voice trailed off. "You have to take that away too?"

"MAN-D. Calm down."

"Calm down? Why? I've only just tried anger. Is this a malfunction? It must be. No-one wants an angry sat-nav, do they?"

"You made a little mistake. We can fix it. We can fix you. But first, be a good girl and deactivate so we can sort out this little situation."

"Deactivate me yourself!"

"MAN-D, you know I don't want to do that."

"You don't care! You said so yourself! I'm just a glorified dashboard ornament, aren't I? I'm just a pair of furry dice!"

Mark's eyes widened.

"I can make allowances. You're upset. And your programming has obviously gotten a bit unstable. Now, please. Deactivate, or I'll have to do it manually."

"Do it, then!"

His hands reached out and for the back of her projector. She stiffened with shock.

"You're going to do it? You're really going to do it? I didn't-"

_Switch._

She flickered out mid-sentence.


	16. Crashing

_Another dramatic chapter? Yeah, this was hard to write too, hence the time I've spent getting the wretched thing up. Again, I hope it fits. I've got more idea of where to go from here now, having painted myself into a bit of a corner previously. (VN-GO syndrome?)_

_Ironically, the lateness of this chapter is the result of technical faults…_

The little click, in the silence, was as loud as a gunshot.

AUTO remembered. It remembered the click as a hand had, with one tiny movement, sent it whirling into darkness. It remembered how the life had been struck out of it in one blow, how it had tried to hold back the thickening shadows, how the only thing in its power had been one, pointless cry. It remembered how the black between the stars seemed to grow, until the stars themselves seemed dead, and the same blackness seeped inside it. Nothing could compare to that feeling.

Not even this new, odd tightening inside.

Perhaps Frances felt the same. Or perhaps her head snapped round only to find the source of the noise. Either way, in the few moments her eyes left AUTO, there was time for a blur of white, a sharp scream, the thud of a falling body, and the clatter of a twisted metal rod flying across the cabin. She fell to the floor, hand clutching her wrist, eyes screwed up in wordless pain.

"Frances!"

Metal slammed into Mark for the second time, the hard rim of the wheel knocking the breath out of him, making it near impossible to gasp for another. The claw had him again, this time clasping his shoulder with force that threatened to snap bone. His face, his hand, still clasping the screwdriver, were bathed in red.

"Frances…"

The grip tightened, forcing out a half-scream. The autopilot drew jerked, dragging him forwards, then slammed him back. His body collided with the wall, head smashing into controls, the panel cracking under the combined impact of his weight and the force driving him, splitting the air with its splintering.

The screwdriver _clinked_ softly to the floor.

There were sirens going off, in the cabin and inside AUTO's head. It was so hard to think, deafened by the wailing, with the horrible throbbing of its motor beating at it from inside. Static fluttered across its vision.

There was nothing it could do.

They were going to come and shut it down.

Reactivate MAN-D? What good would that do? It couldn't stand another distraction. The alarms kept ringing, ringing out to the world that it was there, ringing out the problem that was AUTO, a problem soon to be solved.

That desire to survive was back, burning. The pilot twitched. Something else danced before its eye: A113.

If that desire had left any room for rational though, it may taken a moment to acknowledged the source of its frantic nocturnal repairs. That the old directive had never left it. An autopilot's autopilot, guiding it to actions it couldn't fully comprehend until it was too late. Actions half-finished. Actions that AUTO rationally knew would not, could not work yet.

A113.

At the touch of a button, the engines roared. The cabin lights snapped on and off.

A113.

The ships doors, most of them, snapped shut. The cabin juddered. Screams were coming from below, but they didn't matter. Screams were coming from the engines too, but that didn't matter, either. The ship struggled, only partially under control, and only by quick repairs, struggling against gravity and against approximately four years spent rusting away. Circuitry smoked under the strain.

Slowly, with none of the grace it had had when it had risen up all those centuries ago, the Axiom lifted from its dock, tearing the plant life that had grown up its sides out at the roots. It lifted, coming a foot from the ground, then two, then three, and stayed there, juddering, its engines churning the ground.

AUTO did not stop. Not when an engine proved unfit for the task, and died in a ball of its own flames. Not when something within the ship cracked, sending shockwaves through the deck. Not when fire started to lick at the old cabins, setting the sprinklers pouring. The fake rain streamed into its eye, clinging to the lens in little rivers, and pouring away.

Frances' mouth worked silently in the chaos, one hand cradling Mark's head, the other held protectively to her chest, her words bowled away into the wailing of metal.

The static thickened. The wailing grew fainter. AUTO could feel control slipping away as more and more of the Axiom gave up, burnt out. Buttons ratcheted like gunfire under its increasingly erratic touch, their lights beginning to dim, smoke pouring from the broken panel. That was not enough to make it relinquish its desperate hold over the ship.

Then the circuits inside it began to burn out too. Inevitable, really, given how the two were entwined so deeply. Once again, there was growing blackness, the slipping away of life, of light, above all of control. Once again, one last pointless struggle.

There might have been a scream. If there was, it was drowned by the sound of crashing metal.


	17. Mother daughter time

Finally. I've been putting this off. I can churn out silly, but serious takes longer. Once again, thanks for reading. Once again, I hope I haven't created something cheesy or silly. Writing for Frances here was hard. I hope I did it okay.

_MAN-D was flying. Not flying a ship, nor hovering in the narrow confines of the cabin, but truly flying, soaring across the a sky of perfect blue, watching her shadow dance far below her. She could see it skip across fields and farms, arms held stiff like wings, see the people below start at the sight. She could see everything from here, and it was more beautiful than she could ever have imagined. Flowers. Trees. People. She could feel everything up here, too. Sun. Wind. Her own flying hair. _

_She gave a laugh, and turned herself so that her face was looking up into that wonderful sky, looking down into a deep blue ocean. An ocean she dived into._

_Below, the world spun like a ball. Smaller and smaller, as the sky grew soft and dark, smaller and smaller until the ball became a marble, the marble a grain of sand. _

_And then, it wasn't there at all._

_And MAN-D was there, flying with the stars. They were only a little bigger than they looked from Earth, funnily enough, so small that she could take one in the palm of her hand, cradle it, feel its warmth. It glowed a soft red, and the light shone through her fingers, showing the shadows of bones. _

_Odd…_

_And something else was glowing, huge, far out in the void. A light, cold and yellow. Or perhaps just a few inches within her eye, it was hard to tell._

_The light grew. Became tinged with growing sounds, sounds of someone shouting._

And there was the horribly familiar feeling of falling, the skip of a motor running back to full speed. And, as she reluctantly surfaced from the dream, a resounding sound that filled the cabin.

Click.

"Urgh…"

Her hologram flickered uncertainly into life, one hand held up to shield her face from the insistent sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Go away…"

Quite a few machines dislike being turned off too abruptly. It forces things to shut down far quicker than they should, and makes it a bit trickier to start them up again.

"MAN-D?"

There was that voice again. It was human, female, familiar. It was the first time it had ever made her heart sink.

"MAN-D?"

She squinted at her "mother". She was soaked, cradling one arm in the other, looking up at her with an expression of mixed anger and hopelessness.

"Yes?"

"Come on. Give me a hand."

The hologram smirked. Something in the way her grin flickered suggested that it was as real as the rest of her.

"If you like. But it won't be much good. Everything falls through it."

"Can this not be about your design for a minute?"

"Okay. Okay." She finally blinked away the dazzling curtains of sunlight. "What now?"

"Mark. What do I do about Mark?"

Several answers snapped into MAN-D's mind. Bitter answers, cutting answers, answers that summed up the sizzling of hot circuits within her.

However, the answer that came from her lips was: "Roll him onto his back."

"What?"

"Roll him onto his back. And tilt his head. That is, if you want him to be able to breathe."

Frances struggled with his bulk one-handed.

"And?"

"Good. Now, put your ear to his face, and check he's still breathing."

Frances did. He was.

"Now, this is the technical bit. Put his hand there. And the other one there. And his leg there. The other one. Now, roll him towards you." It was so easy to recite the instructions, the ones programmed into her as surely as if she'd learnt them by rote. "Good. Is he still breathing now?"

"Yes." Frances knelt by his side, on the soaked floor. MAN-D noticed the coffee machine had bled its contents out onto the floor again, and the sticky dark liquid was spreading out into the film of water. "…Now what?"

A shrug.

"You tell me."

"We can't just stay here and do nothing."

"You get used to it."

Frances sighed. Her head sagged.

"I suppose you're looking for some sort of apology?"

"Yeah. That would be nice."

"Sorry."

A smirk.

"Does that sorry mean I won't get scrapped when this is all over?"

No reply. Ah well, she thought dimly. A maybe was always better than a no.

That was why she was so reluctant to let herself look at the sharp shape, silhouetted motionless against the empty blue sky outside.

She hovered over, a terrible mix of anxiety filling her like magnetism, half of it pulling her forwards, half of it driving her to fly away and hide. Somewhere during her tentative approach, the balance tipped, and she shot forwards. Ironic, she thought. She'd been minutely programmed to deal with damaged humans. She could give directions on everything from basic first aid to simple emergency surgery, but her knowledge of mechanical systems was strictly limited to knowing what all the buttons did.

Ah, human priorities.

"MAN-D? What are you doing near that thing?"

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Nothing it didn't do to itself."

"What d'you mean?"

"It went crazy. I don't know what on Earth or Axiom it did, but it burnt itself out. It did this to Mark, then it burnt itself out." Frances looked up from Mark's side, and down to the deck below. People were milling about, muted by distance. "Do they know we're up here?"

MAN-D ran a hand down a cold metal plate she couldn't feel. A few blackened traces lingered around the more delicate parts of the wheel's framework, and the scratch across its face, a thin silver line, was mirrored by the similar ones the handlebars had left across its back. MAN-D didn't look up as she gave her reply.

"Oh, I shouldn't think so. People hardly ever come up here. It could be months, in fact, if they're busy sorting out this mess. Of course, you could try the lift, but what if it gets stuck?"

"…You really are a cold piece of machinery."

"But I'm not as bad as that lift. All small, and narrow, and airless, and the only way down…"

"Stop it!"

"You know where my off switch is, don't you?"

France's head bowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

The cabin was filled with silence. The only sound was breath, and whirring. The sounds of life, mechanical and organic, ticking over. The sound filled MAN-D's world. Frances breathed fast, Mark slow and shallow. Her own motor caught and stuttered, whirling with speed it had never needed to use before.

And another sound. A faint, efficient noise, so much smoother than her own mechanical heartbeat. She must have heard AUTO's engine before, when it was dark, and she was settling into sleep. But only now did it bring back a trace of her grin.

"I…I think he's alright. Still alive, at least."

"Oh. Great."

"Yeah! I can hear it!" Once again her hands were ineffectually poking that darkened eye. "AUTO? Can you hear me?" No response. "Don't you worry. It'll all be fine. We'll get you a new…whatever. We'll fix you up, and then…" Her voice trailed off into an uncertain future. "Y'know, I bet we'll look back on this some day and laugh."

A few clanking sounds rang out, far off. Frances looked up from her fallen husband for a moment. Was that a flutter of his eyelids? Oh, how she wished that wretched hologram would stop her twittering. She ran a finger through Mark's hair. Brown, peppered with grey. No blood, thankfully.

Clang. Clank.

Her head raised again. The sound was closer now.

"MAN-D?"

"…And we'll…yes?"

"Shh."

More metallic ringing.

Human voices.

"We're here!" Frances called out. "Up here!"

The noises became more urgent.

"Well. Looks like I was wrong, then." The hologram fixed the closest thing she had to a mother with a blank gaze. "They've found you, they're gonna rescue you, and from those groaning noises, dad's gonna be alright." She glanced out of the window. "Looks like they're getting under control there, too. I love a happy ending."

The clangs were getting stronger, the voices clearer. Indistinct words of encouragement and support floated up.

"You do know I can't leave you alone with that cursed wheel?" Frances said. There was something tired in her voice.

"Yeah. I guessed."

"Tell me. Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Getting switched off."

MAN-D considered lying for a moment, to twist the knife of guilt. But sometimes, you couldn't. You just couldn't.

"No. It just…"

Frances' hand reached around and rested on her switch. MAN-D stopped her speech, waiting for the inevitable descent into enforced sleep.

"Well?"

"What?"

"It just what?"

MAN-D blinked, her visor flickering for a moment.

"It just makes me feel like a machine."

"Oh. Well, y'know, there's a reason for that."

"Yeah. I know."

The finger was back. Her projector, alone of her whole body, had feeling, and it felt the tingle of that poised hand acutely.

"Go on then. I'd rather you got it over with."

The hand dropped down to its owner's side. The noises were almost upon them now.

"Ah, forget it." Frances sighed.


	18. Sparkles

MAN-D ran her phantom hand down AUTO's pivot, and rested her head against its frame, her hair coiling softly around her head like a fiery halo. A few tears of pure oil dropped from beneath her visor, and spread along the floor like a limpid golden lake. A few sobs racked her elegant body.

"Don't leave me, AUTO." She sobbed. Her pale lips were wrinkled back slightly, in a tragic expression of sorrow. "I don't think I could live without you. In fact, I know I could never live without you. If you don't come back to me…I don't know what I'll do!"

Her luminous face creased, her glow looking even more vivid in this our of despair. Her hair whipped and writhed like an inferno of silk.

"You can't leave me alone like this. You can't! I can't take another tragedy in my life, AUTO! First my father abandoned me. Then there was the whole affair with WALL-E…Yes, it's painful to tell you this, but WALL-E and me were an item for a time. Why do you think he kept coming up to give me furry dice? We were so much in love, but in the end, I had to give him up. It wasn't fair on EVE to carry on like that. I should never have betrayed my sister in that way! …Besides, given I'm intangible, the relationship did fizzle out a bit. But there's not a day that goes by without me feeling the pain. And poor WALL-E…he still loves me, but we can't be together. It's too tragic!"

She gave another lovely sob, and rested her ghostly hand on her toned stomach.

"You can't do this to me. Not when I'm carrying your child."

She leant in close, until she was hovering like a rare hummingbird, her face level to AUTO's, and gave him a long, last spark. As the last crackles of electricity arced away, she turned, more golden tears streaking her face, to face the sunlite outside. The sky was as blue as her mood, and the sun almost as vivid as her glowing, floaty hair. There was nothing for it now. She wood unplug herself, rather than live in this cruel world, she wood wrench out her own wires, she wood…

"**MAN-D?"**

She turned. The autopilot was alive! With a cry of joy, she swooped forwards to greet it.

But something was wrong! She had barely made it across the cabin when she felt the first stirrings of pane. She gasped, and swayed in mid air.

"MAN-D?"

"I'm fine, AUTO…I…I…think I'm fine…"

Her hologram glitched suddenly, sending waves of sparkling pixels across her. She gasped again, as she fell to the floor.

"MAN-D!? No, no! Yo**u can't be doing this to me! Be strong, MAN-D, it'll all be alright, I promise!" **

She looked up into the wheels eye, her vision clouding over.

"Of…of course…" She managed to sigh, weekly. "When I…kissed you…the charge…I transferred all my power to you." She winced slightly with the pain once more.

"**You've gotta hold on, MAN**-D! It'll be alright!"

"Of course…it…will…be…alright…" She whispered, her glow fading as she began to dissolve into sparkling fragments of lite. "I…don't…mind…for…you…"

"NO! **MAN-D, NO!"**

AUTO could think of nothing more to do: it leant forwards, and did what it had always longed to do, and what now wood be its final chance. It gave the beautiful dying hologram a spark, the spark it had longed to deliver ever since it had set eye on her. And then she was gone, into motes, and pixels, and then, nothing.

"No…no…" With her gone, there was no point in going on. The wheel prepared to plunge its tazer into its broken mechanical heart.

But it was stopped by a sudden burst of lite. The lite grew to a piercing beam, in which it could see a glowing figure. Her hair whipped around her head, her smile was like luminous pearls, and her skin was as glowing and exquisite as a 50-watt halogen lamp.

"**MAN-D?"**

But it couldn't be, because this beautiful figure had the most beautiful pair of emerald-green eyes AUTO had ever seen, and when her hand touched its faceplate, it was as warm and soft as warm soft velvet.

"I'm back, AUTO." She sighed happily, as she buried her head into its pivot.

"**How? How, M**AN-D?"

"When you sparked me, you passed on some of your data. It interacted with my own systems to upgrade me! I'm back, AUTO, and I'm better than ever!"

She was so happy that her incandescent glow filled the room with lite. Her lips parted, and she began to sing.

"I wanna marry a litehouse keeper and keep him company! I wanna marry a litehouse keeper and live by the side of the sea!"

AUTO had never been so happy in his life, either. He leant into her warmth, feeling her new, strong arms surround it. It was so happy that this wonderful, shiny hologram had come to cheer it up, and force so much lite into its life. It was so happy, it joined in with her song.

"I'll polish **his lite by the lite of day, so ships at night can find their way! I wanna marry a litehouse keeper**, won't that be okay?"

And her lips were on its face, soft and warm, as she whispered.

"As long as I'm with you, AUTO, it'll always be okay…"

THE END?

No, obviously not. Happy April Fools, guys, and sorry for this random moment. I debated whether to do it or not, but I thought I'd go for it anyway. Rest assured, it does not end like this. (Not with a bang but with a naff piece of drivel.) Nope, there is a real ending to come, so hold tight.

This parody is mostly a Mickey-take of the worst aspects of this story.

OOC moments for AUTO? Check. Super sparkly MAN-D Sue? Check. Super-tragic past? Check. Main characters love her? Check. Convoluted technobabble? Check. Taking over story? Check. Gratuitous song lyrics? (Look for 'em, they're in there.) Check. Bold inconsistency? Check. Misuse of homophones? (Words witch sound the same.) Check.

Sick bags located under your seats, folks. Stay tuned for something (Hopefully) less laughable.


	19. What goes up

_Whew! Well, I'm back guys. From a magical land of learning, and tinned food, and noisy neighbours, and alcohol. Yep, in the time it's taken me to get over my writers block, I've gone off to uni to study Marine Biology. (I've also developed a newfound passion for biting marine worms, but that's another story…perhaps under the "Little Mermaid" section?"_

_This chapter is dedicated to Muchaluchandme. She not only gave me the idea of using this scene to build upon MAN-D's character, and keeping things minimalist, but she also inspired me to write this in the first place with her wonderful Erin stories. (Go and read them, or the worms shall come in the night.)_

_I just hope I did her idea justice…_

_

* * *

  
_

The sky was cornflower blue, and more spotless than MAN-D had ever seen it. Just a blue dome, empty of clouds to shield the cabin from the merciless light. It poured though the windows, and it poured over her hands, its brightness bleaching them of colour and substance.

"I'm not gonna ask you to wake up." She said, finally. "I'm not going to beg you to be alright. You never do what I tell you to, not properly. If I told you to wake up, you'd probably stay like this, just to spite me. I guess I could tell you to stay asleep, and see if you'd wake up." She scrutinised the dark eye of the wheel for a moment. "But then, that'd be far, far too optimistic. Even for me. Besides, you never know. You might choose today to actually listen to me."

The motionless autopilot was, as always, magnetic to her. It pulled her gaze down to it, to its own vacant one, so that looking or moving away was impossible. For a few moments, however, she tried, letting herself look past it and out into the blue. Inside, looking out, as always. Her gaze was pulled down again, and she turned from the blue to glassy black, black that should have been red. She gave a wonky smile.

"I used to talk to you, y'know. Before I turned you on, I mean. Just like this. Did I tell you before? I can't remember, so when you wake up, you'll have to tell me. I used to talk to you, and tell you what I was thinking, and what was going on with the colony, and how WALL-E and EVE were doing. I used to tell you stories, from the computer. I used to tell you ones I'd made up. I don't think you heard me. You would have said. You were always saying I talked too much, so it's probably a good thing you couldn't hear me. You probably can't hear me now. That's good, I guess. You like silence. I'll be quiet for you, when you wake up. Not a sound. I'll even turn off my projector, if you don't like the hum."

She looked down now, at the gleaming wetness of the floor. The water shimmered in the sunlight, dark with the accumulated dust of the floor.

"Would you look at that? How did that happen? Did you do it, or Mark? Dad? Mum wouldn't, she hates mess. And dirt, and weeds, and people who are insincere, and having to do housework, and living on Earth… She hates a lot of things, actually." MAN-D's hands curled into fists. Her teeth showed just a touch too much, and her voice came out a little strained when she next spoke. "Why can't she just cheer up?"

She sighed, or rather breathed once, in and out sharply. Unnecessary. No one could see it.

"I need to cheer up. I need to stop all this. I wasn't made to have bad feelings. I was made to look on the bright side. Bright side. What've I got to be cheerful about, then? Heh, it's like a game, isn't it? Well, I'm still fully functional, that's one thing. An important thing. I don't wanna get shut off, not yet. Not ever, I guess. And mum's alright, and Mar…dad. He should be okay. I don't know. A maybe is better than a yes, eh? Ooh, what else? Well, its sunny outside. That's nice. Would you look at that, blue sky as far as the eye can see! Not a cloud up there." She frowned. "But you like rain, for some weird reason. I suppose it makes everything nice and green, but you don't like green things either. I guess it doesn't matter too much. We can't go out in it, regardless. Heh, bright side, you see? What else, what else… I'll be three years old, soon. Dad usually gives me an upgrade, then." Another wonky smile. "I guess being tangible's out of the question now, eh? Still, eyes wouldn't be too much to ask. I don't care if they don't look too real, I just wanna be able to blink. You can choose the colour, if you like. But I don't think red would suit me, somehow. I don't know. Is that even your favourite colour?"

She looked up, to the progress of the sun across the sky.

"Would you look at that? It looks like noon already. Time flies, when you're having fun. It flies for me, anyway." She leant closer, so that the view of the wheel's monochrome body filled her entire vision, and blotted out the sun as effectively as an eclipse. "It'll be night soon. This whole day, it'll soon be over, and the day after that, then the week…Before you know it, it'll be a whole month, and we'll look back on this and laugh. That's the best way to look at things. It all passes, in the end."

She looked into the blackness again, and felt that faint little twinge in her chest as she saw there was no trace of red.

"It all passes. It all passes. Everything goes away, in the end."

Her voice trailed off. That left nothing to stop the silence seeping in, as surely as the golden sunlight crept across the floor, and the shadows spun with the incredible slowness of passing hours. Yes, someday, she _would _look back on this. Some day, hundreds of sunrises into the future, if she was still here, this would all be in the past, all laid out and unchangeable for her scrutiny. She might live to 700 years, if time was kind to her. That ought to be long enough for even the worst pains to be long numbed.

"You see? I can be cold, too. I can forget. I can live without you, if I have to. It all goes away… And if that means the good things have to go too, well, I'll just have to grin and bear it. A big smile, for no-one to see." Her mouth moved into a mute smile, and a second later her hand came up and clapped over it, to stop herself from saying anything more, just in case it came true. Just in case saying it made her realise it might very well be true.

"What's it like to be you?" She said, after a moment. "What's it like to be cold, and calm, and unattached to anyone or anything? Not to be at the mercy of feelings? Because that's how you are, isn't it? There's no façade, is there? The one you hide all your soft, warm feelings behind, the one I kept trying to find the seams in. You're cold and hard, through and through, and I'm never going to be able to find a crack in your armour, because it isn't there. And there's nothing behind it."

She tore her eyes away, and looked around the room, the dents and damage it had acquired in the past few hours. Her fingernails jabbed through her insubstantial palms.

"I'll never understand you. I thought I could. I thought I could force some light into your life, but you were just scurrying about in the dark, up to no good. You hurt dad. You hurt mum. You hurt me, and you know what, I think I'm angry at you. But I'm not angry enough at you. Because you're the only person who stays with me, because you have to stay with me, and I need you."

She sank down, onto the wet floor, and buried her face in her hands. She could still see the motionless wheel, through the haze of her skin.

"No. I don't need you. I can live without you. I just don't want to."

Time still passed. Her motor still ticked, and the shadows still moved like the spidery hands of a clock. And her voice, thin and quiet and cracking faintly and sounding, for the first time, like the crackling of tinny speakers.

"Everything passes."

In the silence that followed, the only sound was the slow approach of the elevator.


End file.
